


The Heretic

by elluvias



Series: The Heretic Verse [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-10
Updated: 2011-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 63,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elluvias/pseuds/elluvias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a prompt on the kink!meme where Hawke is a masked vigilante and the various LIs and how they react.</p><p>The Heretic, Kirkwall's most wanted apostate. She's hated by all and loved by them as well, she champions those without. No one knows who she is, not even those who work with her. She thumbs her nose at the law and the revolutionaries, affiliating herself to nothing save Kirkwall itself. Her allies are few, men and women who find themselves in her debt and drawn to her charisma, whether they actually like her or not.</p><p>Lady Hawke is the Headmistress for Kirkwall's most private and exclusive Academy. Cold, practical, yet unfailing kind people are drawn to her authority. She's a pariah amongst the nobles for her questionable heritage, and the few friends she has love her or hate her.</p><p>Two different personas, two different lives, one single woman fighting for a future where no one remains bound in the City of Chains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It seeped into your bones, that crawling creeping ennui. A sense of unease and malcontent, the knowledge that the world wasn’t right. Nothing was right, not the law, not the chantry, not the mages, or the elves in their factions. The only thing that seemed right was the dwarves and that was because they were acting the same way they’d always done since a time before remembering.

She could barely remember a day where she’d actually seen the sun in this dark templar infested city of Kirkwall. No, it wasn’t just templar infested, it held blood mages, slavers, criminals that made the rest of Thedas shudder. No one in their right mind went to Kirkwall, nothing here was sacred, was sane, or even by any definition right. No, Kirkwall was a cesspool of the worst the peoples of Thedas had to offer. It had your religious zealots, a fanatical mage underground, a corrupt government, Dalish camped outside the borders, poor destitute elves inside the borders, poor refuges who were trying to escape a goddamn Blight.

Yea. Kirkwall wasn’t sunshine and daisies. It was dark, cutthroat, grim.

She was no hero. Not in the eyes of the common man. Not in the eyes of the Guard. No one looked at her and thought ‘hey what a good job’. At least that was the usual opinion when word passed on the street about her exploits.

Then behind closed doors they sung her praises, from the nobles to the beggars. They whispered how she might be, she was, a ray of hope in this twisted City of Chains. They rooted for her when they saw her cape, or watched one of the brief news casts about her. The apostate who dared to use magic openly, the witch who was almost as famous as Flemeth.

She had no name, not behind her mask, not one the public knew to attach to her. So they gave her one, the Chantry sent its Templars after her, calling her a threat, calling her dangerous, currpt, vile. It was one of those names that stuck, that branded her a villain and a hero in one breath.

Who was she? What name had been given to this utterly insane but courageous woman who fought not for lofty ideals or fame or fortune? Who fought for the people of Kirkwall, for the peace that so long eluded this dark dank city filled with the refuse of Thedas?

The Heretic.

She was no mere apostate. Not in the eyes of the city. She was a hero, she was a villain. Irreverent she’d throw a middle finger to the Knight Commander as she left, and thumb her nose at the mage underground in the next breath. She was wild, she was free, her humor dark and inappropriate. She took the money of the fools who tried to take her, stripping them of valuables that sooner or later showed up again on the Black Market, fenced from who knows where.

She protected the elves, she protected the poor. She saved the innocent, and killed the villains. She cursed blood mages and abominations, denounced them. She fought against the entirety of Kirkwall. This Heretic, this woman, lone and unafraid standing between salvation and utter ruin.

She was also an unmitigated pain in the ass of any person who opposed her.

“Well well, look what we got here.” She lowered her voice, red lips curling up into a seductive smile. She knew she appeared like a sinful spirit, a desire demon to some of the less restrained templars. The Heretic also knew that Knight Captain Cullen wouldn’t fall prey to her ample womanly charms. “Some handsome man who t’ink that he can take me down, why y’ almost make me blush m’nsieur Cullen. All that determination, passion, diligence… Y’ sure y’ wanna fight little ol’ me?”

“The order dictates that you are under arrest for crimes committed against the Maker, for unlawful use of magic, and for not submitting and registering yourself to the Circle.” His voice was firm, he was firm, and perhaps somewhere The Heretic felt a smidgeon of pity for this man. Somewhere that was buried deep in her black little heart.

That pity was flung away as he reached for his sword.

“Y’ sure are a party pooper, have a little fun. Loosen up, let apostates who don’ use blood magic go free. Maybe make Kirkwall a little brighter, non?” Her smile was easy as she slipped cards out of the sleeves of her black trench coat. She was clothed all in black save for the red underbust corset that gave her outfit a little splash of color. The coat flapped back in the breeze as Cullen studied her with a wary eye. She was a beautiful woman, curves accentuated by the black material of her suit, it hid nothing and everything all at once. Her boots almost melted into the pants of her getup, but he could see where they started just below her knee. The mask she wore obscured her face, black cloth over her face, leaving only her eyes and lower jaw bare. One would think that that would be enough to catch her, to find someone who recognized her, yet no one came forth no matter how many pictures the Guards and the Templars posted up around the city.

“Maybe stop focusin’ so much on me ‘n on those recruits who done went missin’? I t’ink they be in bigger trouble den what I could get up ta in the Bloomin’ Rose.” Her words came easily as she examined a card in her hand.

“How do-?”

“I hear rumors, dey get whispered about the city like a bad case o’ herpes. No one’s secrets stay secret fer long. Not yours, not mine.” Her teeth flashed white in the darkness and Cullen hesitated. She could see it in his eyes and the way he shifted nervously. If she’d been casting a spell then he’d be on guard, but she wasn’t. She was relaxed, and her reputation did precede her. He was getting nowhere and more recruits had gone missing that week.

“If you…theoretically, mind you, helped out in our investigation. I might…be able to ask for leniency in the future.”

“A proposal like that comin’ from a man like y’ make my heart go a flutterin’ in my chest. But d’accord, get your recruits back ‘n maybe I won’t be made Tranquil the day y’ big bad Templars finally catch me.” She flicked the cards back up into her coat with the natural ease of a showman, she bowed to him a mocking smile on her face, because they both knew they’d never catch her. Not alive at least. They’d find out who she was when her corpse had cooled and they could finally peel off the mask.

Then she was gone, like she had never existed in the first place, slipping into the shadows so easily that the Knight Captain wondered if she’d even been there to begin with. Still her help could be crucial, she went places no Templar could, not officially at least. Their bargain was like many made before, hunting her down, sending her on a task, they danced a dance that Meredith hadn’t caught on to yet.

It was a dance she had to engage in when she slipped into the sewers, the city underneath the city. A shanty town with flickering gas lamps and buildings that held together with prayers and a smidgeon of luck. A city in the sewers, Darktown, where there was never a hope that you got to see the sun. Where you went to hide or if you were unfortunate, where you went when you had nowhere else to go.

She tapped her ear once, the device calling the preprogrammed number built within. It was simple, it was efficient, and it did its sole function well.

“Heretic?”

“Dat be my name, don’ wear it out my trusty Dwarven friend.” She quipped lightly and Varric laughed softly in her ear. “Got the okay from Ser Cullen. He didn’ know I knew til I told him, but I figure that I was what he was huntin’ for tonight after that man turned Abomination. Meet me at tha clinic, recruitin’ tha healer if ya can go grab Broodypants. ‘n mon ami, do _not_ bring Isabela this time. I still feel violated when she went all grabby.”

“Understood though it was hilarious to watch Blondie wrestle with his blue friend. So what’s the plan?”

“Searching a Brothel. Tryin’ to find Templar recruits. Killin’ what gets in the way, lootin’ their bodies for booty, filchin’ t’ings that ain’t tied down, filchin’ a few that are. Usual stuff, usual fun. Headin’ into the clinic, see y’ in a bit Varric.” Hearing his affirmative she tapped her ear again, letting the connection go. There was always the upside of your business partner and best friend being the head of one of the largest spy networks in the city, not having to hide your identity, being able to stumble into his room at odd hours of the morning broken apart and missing bits and not have to worry when he gets help that he’ll let people unmask you. ‘Part of your charm, as Heretic, is that you could be any woman from the Grand Cleric to the whore on the corner. If anyone finds out, some of the magic will be gone. Besides I worked too damn hard to get your reputation the way it is, and no nitwit is going to ruin that for me.’

She pulled the door open and slipped inside. It was late, and as she glanced around at the poor sots who had to be here at this hour she found she was pleasantly surprised. The clinic was almost empty save for a lone careworn and haggard man who was currently shoveling food into his mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever eat. Heretic understood it was a Gray Warden thing, her brother had written to her about such things and she’d seen it first hand when he’d come home to visit.

“Anders.” Her voice was amused and nonthreatening as she tried to gain his attention. He startled, badly, as his knees hit the table he was sitting at, making his plate and cutlery rattled ominously. Her smile turned into a smirk as she sidled closer to him, watching his warm brown eyes turn to her and stare down at her.

“Heretic. What do I owe the pleasure?” One of the few people who actually was glad to see her when she was in costume. He was one of, if not the actual, leaders of the Mage underground in Kirkwall. He was radical, a pain in the ass, and she found his manifestos in places where they logically couldn’t have been placed. He was also one of the most unfailing kind men she’d ever met, a gentle soul who’d had more than his unfortunate share of pain. He was also an abomination. Anders was perhaps a study in contradictions and melded together with too much talent, not enough sense, and a shit ton of idealism.

He was also her frienemy. He loved her and hated her in equal turns, not that he knew it.

“Got a job, one yer gonna hate. But I’m gonna need your expertise, mon ami.” She could hear his snort and he looked wary and happy all at once. He loved working with her, loved following her around while she did her best to piss people off while trying to fix the broken wreck that was Kirkwall. Or he simply liked the fact he got a cut from whatever loot they’d find off the dead bodies they picked apart, or the empty crates, or the blastedly infuriating unguarded chests that they stumbled across. Needless to say his association with her was profitable, since his other job (besides being all magey underground leader) was operating a free clinic in Darktown of all places.

Even if he got donations from his patients it was likely to be a dirty sock or a piece of jerky, not coin. His ability to work for free earned him the loyalty of the Darktown denizens, he was one of them, patchwork clothing starved looks and the rather scruffy facial hair that never turned quite into a beard. She could honestly say she’d never seen the man clean shaven. She knew he owned a razor, but perhaps his mirrors were faulty, or he didn’t care about his looks. In any case, he was as protected as an apostate could be, having an entire undercity at his back. Perhaps that’s what also deterred the templars from really putting an effort into catching him, they simply didn’t want to brave the shanty town longer than was necessary.

“Now you’ve piqued my interested and deterred me from my dinner.”

“What can I say? I be good at multitaskin’.”

Her black little heart felt warm and fuzzy at the frustrated groan he emitted. He wasn’t pissed, not yet, his eyes were warm still and he looked amused more than wary. Which was good, an amused Anders meant Justice was likely not to make an appearance.

“The job ‘s got us dealin’ with Templars, Templars who gone missin’. Now I know dat y’ t’ink less Templars the better, but the one who showed up last, one o’ tha poor bastards who managed t’ return ended up bein’ an abomination. I dislike templars on principal, but I hate abominations, all creepy ‘n hulkin’ ‘n smellin’ worse than fermented sewage.”

He got a pinched look around his eyes and there was a moment where there was a refusal on his lips, about to shove the job up her ass and go back to eating his dinner in peace. Then he stared at her, at her faintly smiling lips and the green eyes that he couldn’t quite discern the exact shade as they forever changed with her moods. He studied her, with the baggy black trench coat that helped to obscure her form while she fought, and how it fell open right now, allowing him to see the damnably sensuous curves of her body, the black boots with their impractical heels, the maddening flash of red of her corset. The entire outfit drove him mad and made him thank the Maker, if he was even listening. Actually the woman in the outfit did most of that.

She was asking for his help. He owed it to her, and likely if he didn’t go she’d get _Merrill_. Merrill would probably use blood magic, and somehow make everything worse. No, for the Heretic’s utmost safety (and his burning aching libido) he would have to go. What if she got hurt? Merrill couldn’t be trusted to use as healing spell, she’d probably make Heretic explode or worse. Isabela wouldn’t be able to fix Heretic if she got injured, and would likely take the opportunity to cop another feel. Both women also had not so secret torches being carried for the vigilante in front of him. He had to protect her from that, from the wrecks that those two women were.

“Fine.” He was resigned to his fate now. He’d have to deal with Fenris and Varric, the latter wasn’t so bad it was the former with his distinct dislike of everything associated with magic that made him a bastard to deal with. That and he was the only serious rival he could have winning the affections of the infuriating woman before him. Or another woman who he’d be damned before he admitted to having even an ounce of respect for.

“Quit lookin’ like I just asked ya ta give a Templar a lapdance.” Her amusement eased his misgivings, she’d watch his back. He knew it. He’d watch hers, her back…side whenever he could manage it. “If that’s gonna happen Varric’s first up on tha list. He could use his chest beard t’ subtly smother tha Templar while we ran away.”

She cackled when he looked at her horrified and disgusted all at once. He’d never be able to get the image out of his head now and Heretic found a certain amount of sadistic pleasure for doing that, and he owed her for not kicking him in the nuts when he called her ‘Elthina’s bitch’ at the Chantry two weeks ago while she was talking with Brother Sebastian. Not that he knew, but she knew now she’d paid him back and the evening could only get better.

“Finish eatin’ up. Varric ‘n broodypants are gonna get here soon.”

She moved to recline against a wall as he moved back to his dinner, scarfing down what was left. He’d need the mana it would provide later, and something to fortify him when they went to Blooming Rose. It wouldn’t be the first time she took them to the brothel, likely wouldn’t be the last, but all her companions had always seemed unsettled by the place. Perhaps it was the sale of flesh, or how the whores flirted with them, how easily Heretic could fall in with them. It could be the lingering scent that stuck to their skin for hours afterwards.

The door opened behind her ten minutes later, her cards in her hands before she recognized the barely there footsteps of her favorite lyrium marked elf and her trusty dwarven sidekick. The air lowered ten degrees when she felt Fenris’ eyes land on her, and she turned her head to toss him a flirtatious shit eating smirk. He growled like the wolf he was named after and she wondered if he wanted to kill her today, probably.

Too bad he was far too indebted to her to do anything about it.

“Heretic.” Her name was a curse coming from his mouth, and she wondered if he knew how he so easily uttere d her name as if it were a prayer during daylight hours. The prickly bastard probably wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found out who she was. Probably crush her heart feeling betrayed, best case scenario.

She needed to find sane companions, well besides Varric and Aveline.

“Bonjour Fenris, lovely night t’ kill abominations ain’t it?”

“Ugh Heretic, I just got my coat cleaned.” Varric chimed in and she smiled at him. “Then don’ get it messed up, mon ami.” He rolled his eyes looking amused. Anders stood up, blatantly ignoring Fenris as he nodded his greeting to Varric. She didn’t let them get settled before she was walking towards the door, knowing that they would follow her. Neither Fenris nor Anders asked what the plan was now, both usually found it easier to stomach what they no doubtedly would have to do if it came to them as a surprise.

Fenris wouldn’t admit it but he trusted her enough to know she’d never betray him, never allow him to be hurt. Anders knew she’d never let him be taken, be made tranquil. She’d done too much for both of them to ever let them have feelings of doubt where it came to her loyalties. Heretic would watch their backs, would certainly drag them into dangerous life threatening situations, but in the end it was always for the betterment of Kirkwall.

Besides it wasn’t like she had very many people she could call on for backup. Not publicly at least. There was Varric, but everyone knew better than trying to pin anything on him even when it was a well known secret that to get Heretic to look into something you dropped a note or a rumor by the Hanged Man for Varric. There was Aveline, Guard Captain of Kirkwall who followed her around to make sure she ‘didn’t destroy too much shit in her blind crusade for doing good and making my life a living hell’. There was Merrill, the Dalish bloodmage who was equal parts cute and terrifying like a bunny who could rip out your throat and eat your very soul if you didn’t pet it _just so_. There was Isabela, the infamous pirate queen whose skill with daggers was almost as good as her reputation in bed and a sexual harassment suit in the making. There was Sebastian, part brother of the Chantry, part exiled Prince, a completely conflicted mildly hypocritical man who simply didn’t know what or where he was going in life. There was Anders, an apostate who was mostly an abomination who was a major figure in the mage underground who ran the free clinic in Darktown and wrote manifestos in his spare time. Then finally there was Fenris, the emotionally crippled ex Tevinter slave who could phase through people and rip out their internal organs who hated magic with a passionate intensity that should scare the piss out of every mage within reach of his ridiculously large broadsword.

Something about her seemed to attract the utterly insane to her side to fight with her. She could ask some of her…no she couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. It was one thing to risk her neck, it was entirely different to ask the very people she had sworn to protect with her life to do the same. Her friends, her companions, were more than qualified and their variety of skill sets simply helped to help her complete her nightly tasks and missions with ease. When she asked them of course, besides none of her friends were strangers to killing, to lying, to being vaguely immoral in the name of being moral. The others weren’t, they were safe and protected and she’d make sure they stayed that way.

Still it wasn’t like tonight was going to end up too badly, she had a good group, had all her basis covered. Had a vague idea of what was going on.

What could possibly go wrong?  
\----

Never was she ever going to even think ‘what could possibly go wrong?’. Varric was right, it was a damnably cursed phrase that ended up getting her stabbed, burned, and tossed about like a rag doll. Good news, they got the bad guys, saved the day, had another Templar in their debt, and did it all without Fenris and Anders killing eachother.

Bad news, she was accosted by a bloodmage whore, she was certain two of her ribs were still broken even after Anders had healed her, she’d been beset by abominations, shades, and demons, and the morning bell was ringing just as she slunk into her room as she stared at her bed with such forlorn longing that she nearly wept.

She tossed her singed coat onto her bed and pulled off her mask. Glancing at the mirror showed the redness of her sleep deprived eyes, the mottled bruises coloring her face contrasting nicely with the paleness that always happened when she’d used too much mana in the night. She was going to need to get healed before any of the children saw her. It wouldn’t do for their esteemed Headmistress to look like she’d been in a bar room brawl.

Lady Hawke also didn’t need her servants falling into a tizzying worry over the state of their beloved patron. She did not want to have a repeat of Orana’s panic attack the last time the elven servant had spied her mistress’ battle bruised skin.

Groaning she shuffled out of her room, walking through the winding halls of the Amell Academy for Excellent Individuals until she stopped at a door. Knocking on it she called through the wood.

“Mon ami I…” She paused and cleared her throat, knowing her students were still abed but that the staff and the teachers were already rising. “May I come in? I find I am in need of your expertise this morning Professor.” The accent she donned as easily as her mask fell away into the politely clipped tones any genteel noblewoman should have. She didn’t look genteel or noble right now, her black hair mussed up and unbrushed, her skin alternating pale and bruises of carrying colors, still wearing most of her costume. Leaning against the door for support she smiled as one of her teachers opened the door.

“I’d ask what you’d need help with but I can see with my own eyes what you need.” A soft and dryly amused male voice made her smile in turn. “Come inside before the children see you and wonder if their Headmistress is feistier than they believe.” A strong and gentle hand grabbed her arm and ushered her inside, leading her to a still unmade bed.

“You should probably shut the door Professor Thekla, the children don’t need to start a new set of rumors that revolve around myself and my inability to restrain myself in sight of your impressive beard.”

The gray haired mage stood infront of her, stroking his beard with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “It is quite irresistible, back at the Circle I had to beat people off with a stick.” It hurt to smile, but she couldn’t help it. A chuckle bubbled up as she regarded him with unconcealed amusement as he walked to the door and closed it.

“Professor Thekla, you of all people should realize that the stick you used is called a staff.”

“Very true Headmistress. Now what ails you other than the fact an impressionist artist used your face as a canvas?” Karl’s eyes were amused as he tilted her chin up to carefully take in the majestic beauty of the bruises on her face. His bedside manner was similar to Anders’, kind with a good dose of humor to distract his patients from their current malady. It wasn’t too surprising though; that they were so similar Karl had been Anders’ tutor long ago when both men had lived in Fereldan.

They had been more, as Anders had confessed to her the dark night that he heard of Karl’s ‘death’. They had been lovers, lovers who had turned to good friends. Anders had been distraught, and even as Heretic she felt a pang of guilt and pain for having to lie to him. For telling him that she ‘was so sorry’ and ‘there was nothing she could do’. She had done something, she’d saved Karl’s life but she’d enacted a price from the man. He had to die, to the world, he had to die and have his corpse be found because as a dead man he’d be able to better the world for all mages.

He’d accepted her offer, reluctantly. Still he had come and after she had explained, after she had told him of her dream for mages, for Kirkwall, he agreed with her. He was better off dead, to the world, to the mage underground, so he could live here. Live here and take in the children whose magic hadn’t been recorded by the Circle’s Templar hunters, mostly apostates from outside Kirkwall and only a handful from within.

The scion of the Amell Family was doing what the Underground would not, what mages like Anders seemed to fail to see. The Circle was important for some thing, one thing. Education. Mages needed to be educated, or else they’d fall prey to demons, to spirits. Still it wasn’t like this was well known, the only outside people who knew of the true nature of the Amell Academy were Varric and oddly Keeper Marethari. Varric because he knew everything about her life, and Keeper Marethari because she needed the Dalish view on spirits and magic.

“Broken ribs, and various other bumps and bruises. To be fair, Anders was as out of mana as I was at the end so we made due with what bumps and bruises we had left. No he was not aware of my ribs, I politely gave him his share of the profit from last night’s venture and helped Keran return to the Gallows.” She explained, trying to defend Anders when she saw the disapproving gleam in Karl’s eyes. It wasn’t Anders’ fault she’d run off to escort Keran back to the Gallows knowing full well she was injured.

Karl went over to her and with far too much expertise for her piece of mind he stripped off her corset. He tossed it to the side and laid his hands to her ribs, mouth turning down in concentration as blue light gathered at his hands and seeped into her body, mending the broken bones with a care and ease of a natural healer. His hands skimmed up her body, letting more magic flow into her, healing the bruises on her skin. He didn’t even break a sweat by the time he finished, lifting his hands off her and helping her to stand up.

“There you are as whole as I can make you Headmistress. You should get ready for the day as well, you might wish for your own carafe of coffee I hear you have a long day on the schedule.”

“What? I should not have too much on my schedule tis Thursday. Thursdays are my quiet days and I can usually schedule in an early afternoon nap.” She trailed off at the almost benign smile on his lips. She knew better, she knew the amused glint in his eyes meant she was in trouble. She had forgotten something, likely something important. The panicked pleading look on her face made Karl take pity on her.

“Today is Friday Headmistress. You have the Harimann’s ball to attend tonight.”

A pained groan escaped her. The Harimanns were some of the most dreadfully dull nobles, their parties were decent but unexciting and she couldn’t not go. She had to be in attendance as the sole heir to the Amell fortune (which she had rebuilt copper by bloody copper) and lands (which she had to buy herself, again). Not that any of the nobles would admit that she had any sort of worth besides her mother’s maiden name. They uppity bastards refused to call her by her Maker given name, always referring to her as ‘Lady Amell’ or ‘Headmistress Amell’.

“Do I have a date? Wait why would you know? I’ll ask Orana if I do.”

She gained a burst of energy as she hastily grabbed her corset and fled Karl’s room. It almost felt like a walk of shame, making her way back to her room as she tried to make sure her students didn’t see her. They knew who she was; it was the worst kept secret at the school but she didn’t need rumors floating around that she was romantically involved with any of her staff. She had to appear mildly respectable, an example of propriety They had to have standards at the Academy after all, much to some of the students’ dismay.

Once she reached her room without incident she finally glanced out at the gray morning. It was going to be another gray day, with the ever present threat of rain looming over the horizon. Some people muttered that Fereldan was a terrible country to live in, but for all its mud and dog shit at least it had sunlight to go with the bitter cold and inferior technology. Kirkwall was dank, dark, forever gloomy, forever threatening to rain. Most of the city was crowded together, building further and further upwards on the cliffs. It was a towering monstrosity, held together by the inventive technology and magics from the dwarves and ancient Tevinters. There was little room to breathe anywhere, the winding streets were a labyrinth to the unwary and it was these streets along with the ever present statues of tortured slaves that never let Kirkwallers forget the less the illustrious beginnings of the City of Chains.

The Amell holdings were a rare jewel, settled in Hightown past the single narrow stair that led to the more wealthy part of the city, near the Viscount’s Keep, laid the Amell Estate and Academy. It was a small natural haven, the high stone walls along the border of the property kept the prying nosy neighbors out and inside was a what some would believe to be a park at first glance but was actually the garden. It was a small island of greenery in a city focused on technology or bigger grander more marvelous buildings than the last. The estate itself a small castle, a fortess of white stone that was elegant but ever so practical, not many knew that the Amell holdings held subterranean levels that could be called more than dungeons or wine cellars, it was more like catacombs, with tunnels leading from the estate directly into Darktown.

Not that anyone outside the Amell family had known about them beforehand and the secret had remained even after her idiotic Uncle Gamlen had lost the estate to slavers. It had been such a wonderful day when she had gone through the tunnels her mother had spoken of and slaughtered every slaver bastard she could find. She hadn’t even hidden behind a mask to do it, she’d simply taken Varric and they cleaned house, literally.

Stripping off her boots, then her suit, she went to her bathroom and let the warm water wash away the grime stuck to her skin. She couldn’t linger, too much to do and far too little time to do it.

“Mistress?” A timid voice called out into her room as she stepped out of the shower.

“Yes Orana? You have excellent timing my dear. I was about to need help dressing.” Hawke said with a smile as she wrapped a towel around herself. Orana stood in the middle of her room, looking as subservient as her former mistress, the late Tevinter Magister Hadriana, had likely taught her to be. Hawke knew better than to be fooled by Orana’s meek looks and manners, underneath it all was a backbone of steel and a mind like a master level trap. The elven maidservant rarely let anything get by her, and while she was hardly intimidating she was certainly one of Hawke’s main sources of information about the school and the inhabitants within.

Orana automatically came forward and went to Hawke’s wardrobe, pulling out her standard outfit and laying it before Hawke to let her begin dressing. Hawke was silent for a moment, as she put on her underthings and fishnet stockings before glancing at Orana.

“Do I have a date for the Harimann’s ball?” If it wasn’t for Orana Hawke would likely forget all the ‘important’ social engagements and what they entailed. She’d likely bury herself in the school and being Heretic. Sliding the olive green skirt over her hips and zipping it up, she pulled on her forest green shirt coat, lacing up the bust appropriately before letting Orana put on her corset.

“No Mistress, you do not.”

“Andraste’s flaming tits.” She muttered the oath under her breath as she felt Orana finish with the laces. “I am dateless to the Harimann’s ball. Maker, I need to find someone quickly or I am going to be accosted by fools and inbred idiots.” She followed Orana’s gently guiding hands as the elven servant pushed her to her vanity, making her sit in her chair while a brush was grabbed and Orana began to expertly take out the tangles in Hawke’s black hair. The steady rhythmic movement of the brush began to soothe her frayed nerves, with few deft twists of Orana’s hands, Hawke was once again sporting her ‘usual’ hairstyle. The bun was severe and held most of her hair except for two irritating strands of hair that never wished to stay put. She quickly put on her makeup, and added the finishing touch to her matronly Headmistress persona, a pair of round spectacles that hunt on her nose with a chain that circled behind her neck to keep them on her face.

Even Varric had trouble reconciling Headmistress Hawke with Heretic at times. Her fingers slid over the golden choker that lay still on the vanity. She’d only put that on when it was absolutely necessary. When she had to leave the safety of the mansion. It was a unique piece, made at her request by Sandal. The smooth golden outside hid the runed enchantments within, severing and surpressing her magic, making her halfway tranquil. The shining ‘jewel’ in the center was actually a hollowed out crystal filled with pure lyrium, the power for her choker. It gave her freedom to move throughout the entire city without tipping anyone to her true nature, without them asking too many questions about her.

It also made it hard to feel, she wasn’t emotionless, but she could be viewed as apathetic when she put the choker on. She was serene, more logical in her decisions, though it didn’t stop a smart remark from falling out of her mouth on occasion or keep her from having emotional outbursts, it was simply harder to do so.

“I would suggest Fenris, Mistress. He is the most likely out of all of your associates to be acquainted with the rules and proper decorum of Kirkwall nobility. Anders might work, in a pinch, his past as a Gray Warden would lend him some insight into the appropriate manners of a ball. Isabela would be a disaster politically, as would Merrill. Take Varric before you take one of them.”

Hawke glanced at Orana’s reflection in the mirror. Amused and amazed that she knew so much, then again Orana had served under a Tevinter Magister as well, one who had been closely associated with Fenris’ former Master. She hadn’t known Fenris on sight, but she had known of him later. Tevinter was a strange and terrifying place, where even a lowly slave could give her sound strategic political advice. Actually Bodhan was pretty savvy as well… She needed to give them a raise again because their help was essential to her life now.

“Thank you Orana, I shall send a note to Fenris immediately. He likes this me well enough that he’ll likely accept.” Her voice was wry as she stood up, mildly chagrined that the only two people who were attracted to both her personas were women. Not that Hawke had anything against loving another woman romantically, Isabela was simply too free to ever be tied down and Merrill was… _Merrill_. It would be like lusting after a kitten, it was wrong and not even the fun kind of wrong.

Gracefully getting up, she smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles of her outfit. Glancing at the mirror for a final time, to make sure nothing was out of place, she realized how…oddly mature she looked. Barely hitting twenty four and she looked older, wiser. That came part and parcel with her life she mused, she ran a school, played vigilante, had traversed the Deep Roads, was a notorious apostate, a noblewoman of marriageable standing, and a surrogate mother/aunt/sister to many of the children at the Academy. Her years were few, but she had a life that aged one beyond measure.

She understood hardship and pain, she had seen suffering, she had fought monsters that had crawled up from the Maker’s darkest nightmares. She was also a leader, her charisma and natural charm drew people to her like moths to a flame. No matter the persona she donned, no matter the mask she wore, subconsciously people recognized her natural potential.

Thank the ever loving Maker Seamus Dumar was still kicking around, Hawke had the unpleasant knowledge that if he were not then more than a few eyes would turn her way to bid for the Viscount’s seat. She was far too respectable, too put together, too well connected to be ignored like the nobles wished. She had nary a scandal to her name, which made her so dreadfully boring after her sudden rise to power after that ill fated Deep Roads expedition that claimed her brother’s future in the Gray Wardens and the eternal friendship of Varric.

The few quirks she possessed were all acceptable, all expected of a Fereldan born and raised noble. Maker did it rankle some times knowing that the fops of Hightown found her ‘acceptably pretty but far too clever and cold for anything fun. She’s the sort you marry, good breeding you know.’ Aveline had had to none too subtly grip her arm to keep Hawke from cramming her Fereldan loving fists down the shallow bastard’s throat.

Walking out of her room she nodded to a few of the staff, smiling politely, and the other Professors as she made her way to breakfast. The dining hall held a massive wooden table on a raised dais, where normally the staff sat while the children were usually separated into four other long tables on the main floor. Force Mages, Arcane Warriors, Spirit Healers, and ‘Keepers’ were the four designations that the children often sorted themselves into, not that the professors themselves told the children to do so. There were no strict rules on where you were to sit, occasionally a student would come sit with the staff, wishing to discuss the finer points of a lesson or a professor would have to sit with the children to make sure peace was being kept or children found friends and decided to sit with them rather than their magical ‘school’.

“Headmistress.” Karl nodded to her as she sat down beside him, taking her appointed spot in the middle of the table so as to overlook the handful of students who were early risers.

“Professor Thekla, good morning again.” She smiled in vague amusement when the mild faced man poured her a cup of coffee then poured himself one. She reached for the cream and sugar, sweetening the sweet sweet caffeinated lifeblood that would get her through the day. “You’re not going to add cream or sugar in yours Professor Thekla?” She idly stirred her cup as she watched him from the corner of her eye.

He smiled as he sipped on his brew, eyes twinkling. “I like my coffee the same way as the current state of my soul, black and bitter.” Her lips turned even more upwards, the smile barely hidden threatening to become fully formed and entirely amused.

“What has caused this dire state of your soul?” Spooning the scrambled eggs onto her plate and grabbing a few sweet rolls as well she did her best to pretend that she was wholly concerned and uncaring of how utterly amusing the conversation was turning out to be.

“Why Headmistress I thought you knew, I am a dead man and an apostate. Surely those two marks against my otherwise goodly nature make my soul irredeemable beyond measure. Especially since I cannot go to the Chantry and confess the rest of my, admittedly few, sins. They frown upon undead you know and I would not relish dying for a second time.” He nibbled on the corner of a sweet roll, his face completely blank, completely mild. The sly old fox, he was even better at Wicked Grace than Varric. If Karl had half a mind to he could become the best card shark in all of Thedas.

Thankfully he was quite content to be the head professor of the Spirit Healers.

She stifled her laughter under the guise of a polite cough. Once she was certain she had control over her facial muscles she picked up her fork and began to eat. Students and staff trickled in and Hawke smiled politely at them all, watching over them like the Lady Protector they knew her to be.

“Good morning Professor Velanna.” Hawke tilted her head respectfully to the lone Keeper employed at the school. She was the newest of the Professors, having arrived at the Academy’s door quite unexpectedly with a letter of recommendation from Keeper Marethari. Her bitterness towards humans was almost on par with Fenris’ hatred of mages, and her dose of insanity was rivaled only by Merrill. Still she was skilled and she needed shelter, so she took up the position of teaching the mages Keeper magic and lore. Velanna had rankled under Hawke’s directive that she was to teach all the students Dalish lore, Dalish history, and no matter the race Keeper magic if it suited them.

“Good morning Headmistress.” Velanna’s tone was sour, her gaze narrowed and angry as she piled fruit onto her plate. She put three times as much food on her plate as any of the others, and Hawke suspected that the elven woman was a Warden. She’d only seen Anders and Carver consume that much day in and day out.

Hawke watched as Velanna made herself a cup of tea, the Dalish woman had never been too terribly fond of coffee. Silence descended the table once more as they ate; it was oddly comfortable between the three Professors. Even Velanna’s bitter hatred of humans was blunted by the sheer fact that Hawke helped everyone she could, no matter the race, the origin. She did not shove Chantry doctrine down the throats of the students, she did not force Circle ideals, she accepted and asked (ordered) for lore and history of all the peoples of Thedas be given. The students were asked to make their own opinions on the History, on Politics, and while everyone and their Grandmother had differing opinions they all agreed (at least within the Academy) that they were all given a chance.

Well except those fools who wanted to learn blood magic. It was a forbidden school even here; the power it gave never was worth the risk, the pain, the gruesome aftermath that could happen. Hawke made sure, demanded, that all students see the horrors blood magic could wreak, she’d even lifted a few corpses of the victims of blood magic just to drive in the point. It was a line she would not cross, and would not allow any of her children to cross.

Once the second morning bell rang, signaling that classes were going to be imminent all the teachers left, leaving Hawke to breathe a sigh of relief. She had a third period class on Ethics of Magic to teach, leaving her enough time to call upon Fenris (barring that no magical catastrophe didn’t happen between her leaving the front door and getting to the gate). She wandered back to her room, looking at the golden choker bitterly before reaching for it and sliding it around her neck and fastening the clasp.

It was disconcerting in an abstract way every time she put on the magic suppresser. When it was off she would describe it as suddenly being naked, that it was unpleasant and cold, leaving you without the comfort and protection you’d come to rely on. She logically knew she was clothed, she knew that physically nothing was wrong, but it was unsettling nonetheless. She stared at herself for a moment in the mirror, her expression serene, her gaze placid, since she was feeling nothing strongly at the moment she could pass as a tranquil. Not that her tone of voice held no inflection when she spoke, it was simply in moderation. Her mind was never truly idle like this, no daydreams, just thoughts.

Anders would likely find her disgusting for wearing it. Fenris would praise her for her initiative. Merrill would be horrified. Isabela would likely wonder if she could add a pair of bangles that would allow her to chain Hawke up and have her wicked way with her, seeing how skilled she’d have to be to get a reaction out of Hawke.

She found herself outside the school gates and made her way through the busy winding streets to Fenris’ dilapidated mansion. Some would find the hulking monstrosity disconcerting, with its obvious disrepair and dead bodies in the entryway. For the years she had known Fenris, the bodies that had been in the entryway since the first time she stormed the mansion with him til now, no obvious signs of decay, no change in position. It was queer, and she attributed the lack of decay to blood magic.

She did not knock, pushing herself against the heavy door and letting the creak alert Fenris to his morning visitor. A huff escaped her lips as she finally opened the damn door, and her glare while mild was no less disdainful when she turned it towards the inanimate object. She made a mental note to ask Fenris to help her close the damn thing when she was leaving; she began to make her way upstairs.

Halfway up the stairs the air moved behind her and suddenly arms had snaked themselves around her body, firm hands gripping her breasts and squeezing. “Lady Amell, you’re looking ravishing today.” Breath ghosted over her ear and Hawke’s eyes rolled heavenward and gently grabbed the wrists connected to the offensive hands and lifted them off her bosom. Tanned fingers contrasted nicely against her pale skin, but it took her only a moment to drop the feminine hands and turn around to face her attacker.

“Good morning to you too Captain Isabela.” Hawke refused on principle to call Isabela by her first name only if the pirate queen refused to call her by at least one of her maker given names. She’d even settle for ‘Hawke’ like so many others referred to her. Isabela likely only wanted to get under Hawke’s skin and into her pants, well Hawke could play that game as well…well except wanting to get into Isabela’s pants which the pirate was once again _lacking_. “I’ve come to call on Fenris.”

“If I were you, pet, I’d leave off til later. He’s cranky this morning, like a wet cat.”

“Regardless,” Hawke gave Isabela a cool but determined smile. “I must ask him a favor.” Isabela’s eyes sharpened at that and focused more intently on Hawke’s face. A hand came up and began to idly caress Hawke’s cheek. Isabela never seemed to be able to not touch Hawke, her hands always wandered, always caressed and petted. Hawke tolerated it to a certain point, when those wandering hands of Isabela’s went to…unmentionable places Hawke removed them from her person until Isabela began to behave again. Or behave as much as Isabela could.

“You mean have him be your escort for that ball thingy tonight? I apologize sweet, but I just got him to promise to help me hunt down a lead.” The warm calloused hands trailed down to her neck, stroking the sensitive skin there. Hawke…missed being touched. She had grown up in a house where love had been verbal and physical, where she didn’t go a day without some affectionate caress, a hand in her hair or a hug from behind or a gentle punch to her arm. Life was lonely, isolated, and so very cold. It was why she never usually gave Isabela anything more than a token resistance, because out of all the figures in her life Isabela touched her the most and did so in…a very skewed sign of friendship. “He’s going to be busy.”

“I won’t take him from you then, but I should still see him.” She was almost reluctant as she pulled away from Isabela’s caress. “Still offer, it is only polite.” She took a step back, putting space between them as Isabela let out an amused huff.

“See you at the Hanged Man on Wednesday?”

Hawke stopped halfway during her turn and she looked back at Isabela, a warm serenely affectionate smile on her face. “Of course, why ever would I miss an opportunity to lose my coin and be plied with alcohol?” Isabela smiled and as Hawke finished turning around a firm hand came quickly up to smack her behind in a most unladylike manner. An undignified squeak escaped her and her cheeks flushed as Hawke’s hands idly went to her backside to try and rub the sting away. Isabela’s followed her the rest of the way up the stairs and into the darker recesses of the second floor where Fenris usually resided.

“Fenris?”

She spied his armored form pacing back and forth, Isabela was correct in her description. Fenris looked very much like a wet and bedraggled cat, the only thing that kept the picture from being complete was that Fenris wasn’t stopping at various intervals to attempt to lick himself clean. His sage green eyes snapped to her, narrowing for a second in a glare before he relaxed slowly.

“Lady Hawke.”

He inclined his head to her, the closest he would ever come to a bow of respect. Her hands automatically went to the side of her coat, pulling it out and dipping into a curtsy. A smile curved the olive skinned man’s lips at her show of good breeding and manners.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” His voice wasn’t accusatory, despite the growl ever present in his voice. There were days Hawke simply wished to lay down and let him read to her, anything, everything, just so she could hear his voice. He was curious, surprised, and happy to see her.

“I came to ask a favor of you, friend.” Her smile was wistful as she came further into the room, walking towards the fireplace. She gently touched the stone, the faint music of magic just nearly beyond her reach the veil was so thin here. “I was going to ask for you to accompany me to the Harimann’s ball tonight as my escort.”

“Was?” His voice was wary and a hint of accusation now laced his tone. She glanced at him, his body moving from relaxed to tense and she gave him a placating smile.

“I met Isabela on the stairs, she told me of your obligation tonight. I would not make you choose, especially since this ball is to only be dreadfully boring and you will have a chance of excitement and adventure with Isabela.” Her smile became more genuine, humor and happiness managing to momentarily break through. “That is, unless, you find a pile of badly written love poems and a boot once again.”

He relaxed once more, understanding in his eyes. They both knew that he would choose her over Isabela if she truly asked him to. Not out of a misplaced sense of obligation but because Fenris cared for her. Some nights, when she wasn’t traipsing about the city as a vigilante or being dragged to the various social events that were necessary to maintain her position within the nobility, she came here and patiently taught him to read. They had spent hours together over these last few years, sitting together by fire and candlelight as she began to teach him how to read and write in the common tongue. She pulled a few strings and helped to keep the Seneschal from looking into the empty mansion in the middle of Hightown. She even talked with him about religion, surprising him with her knowledge not only of the Chant of Light, but the Qun, and even the Dalish Creators.

Lady Hawke was teaching him how to be a free man, an educated free man. She abhorred slavery as much as he did, and she…she even had taken a few ex-slaves into her household, giving them jobs, teaching them. He was too proud to go to her home to live under her roof, to be her servant. Still, he respected her. She respected him, and one day…one day he would scrape together his courage(and the coin) and court her like she deserved.

Still she would not ask him, because she wanted him to honor his word to Isabela.

“I would have been honored to escort you.”

She smiled at him and tipped her head in his direction. “I would have been honored to be escorted by you.” They shared a smile and she turned. “I would love to stay, but I must be off. I have only a handful of suitable people left to bring that I do not find abhorring and none of them reside in Hightown. So I bid you a good day Fenris, and Sunday I shall come over and bring you a new book. Will you escort me out?”

Fenris nodded and came to her side, close but not touching, never touching, because he wasn’t worthy yet. Lady Hawke was… she… He couldn’t articulate in his own mind what made her so special, so deserving of honor of the highest order. Yet she did, and he could not touch her. Not yet, because he could hurt her, or sully her with his clawed gauntlets. Even though he knew she could fight, that she had braved the Deep Roads with Varric and survived. That she had spent her first year in Kirkwall as a mercenary. She was strong; if life had been different she would have been a warrior queen of old. Would he have fought by her side as her king? Would he have been her knight protector?

They made their way through the mansion, silent but at ease. Their friendship evident and comfortable. One day, one day in the future he would have her. He would kiss her with passion and gentleness and she would answer back in kind. He would finally see her with her hair down, her pupils blown with need for _him_. He would finally be able to rid himself of the traitorous thoughts of a masked woman with no respect for the world or order, he would finally be able to temper the burning hateful need to pin her to a wall and shut her up with his mouth, to strip away all the masks and to see who the City’s Heretic really was.

He watched her go out the door and shut it behind her, amazed that she had enough strength to open it that far. Moving to the window he watched as she walked down the front steps and walked out into the crowded street.

Hawke sighed as she made her way back to the Academy. She would take the shortcut to Darktown then. Thank the Maker for her choker; it would give her the patience necessary to talk Anders into going with her.

Halfway up the drive her latent instincts took over and she moved backwards, just in time to miss a…student? The poor student had been tossed across the yard, a sword laying towards the left and a groan emanated from the bush as well as a pair of feet. She raised an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed as the Head Professor for the Arcane Warriors jogged into view a near manic grin on his face.

“Now _that’s_ why we…Headmistress! You do look _lovely_ today.”

“Professor Desiderium.” She tried to convey her disapproval at seeing students tossed into the greenery. She probably conveyed it and was likely promptly ignored. The elf was almost as handsome as Fenris, he held the same feral quality, the masculinity that oozed from every pore. His skin was a light tan, not as dark as Fenris, but not as light as an Anders or Fereldan. His blue eyes were a bright piercing blue, the same shade as the Waking Sea on a sunny day. His hair was a dark warm brown, short enough not to be tied back, but long enough to occasionally get in his way. Black tattoos, like the stripes on a tiger covered every inch of his skin, giving him an exotic catlike appearance. His smile was charming and infuriating all at once.

“Why is a student lying in the bushes Professor?” Her voice was neutral, calm, and Desiderium’s gaze wandered to the choker on her neck. He raised an eyebrow, his smirk was utterly uncaring.

“Because they need to know that if they pick up a weapon they damn well better be prepared to use it.” His shrug was easy and fluid. If he wasn’t so distinct, so recognizable, he would be following her on her nightly escapades.

“She’s still breathing.” A pained groaned once again came from the bushes as well as some floundering as the student tried to free themselves from the greenery. “So I count it as a win. Besides they’re supposed to be _Warriors_ not pathetic spineless little snots. Get out of that bush right now Rosewell! I am _not_ amused.” He barked the final bit with all the authority and sheer sadistic pleasure that only Desiderium and Karl found in teaching. The student stopped her floundering and finally pulled herself out of the bush. Her petulant look thrown towards Desiderium only had the man grinning even more manically.

“Go!” He barked at Rosewell and with one last disdainful look thrown towards him she marched back towards the area where the other Arcane Warrior advanced students were, stopping only to pick up her sword.

“Was that truly necessary?” Her voice held thin threads of amusement and disapproval, wondering what had made her offer the position to this madman. He winked at her. “Of course, besides, you’re the one who made me their _God_.”

“Maker I should never have given you a position of power.”

He shrugged, eyes amused. “No you really shouldn’t have, why did you hire me again?”

“Because you were the only man mad enough to volunteer yourself?”

“We’re all mad here.” He quipped, eyes sparkling. Her lips fought a smile as she nodded solemnly. “We are indeed. Back to work Professor and try not to destroy the flowers, or permanently injure the students.”

“Pfft fine, party pooper.” He rolled his eyes and jogged back to his student barking orders that had them scrambling. He might be mad, he might be unorthodox, but he certainly got his job done Hawke mused. Those children would one day be able to join the army or the City Guard, so long as they hid their talents well. They’d be exceptional warriors if Professor Desiderium didn’t eat their soul and shit it out first.

She made her way through the Academy, finding the hidden stair that led to the Catacombs and from there the secret tunnel to Darktown. She made it through in a timely manner, finding herself close to Anders’ clinic. She smoothed out her outfit, making sure she was once again presentable before making her way to the Clinic.

The lantern was off, not surprising since Anders usually lit it at the midmorning bell. Not bothering to knock, she let herself in, knowing he usually kept the door unlocked so the truly needed could get to him in the direst of emergencies. He was sitting in the back, hunched over a dilapidated desk scribbling furiously onto pieces of parchment.

“Anders.” Her voice was calm as she heard him swear and jump at the sound of her voice. He turned in his chair, glaring at her with a passion he usually reserved for Maleficars.

“ _You_ ” Anders practically spit the word, looking like all he wanted to do was take his pen and stab her. He wouldn’t, because she donated a goodly amount that coupled with the money he got from their escapades, he could run his clinic and actually eat.

“I have a favor.” She began, watching as he stood up and came to her eyes furious body tense. “A request actually. I have somehow found I am dateless to the Harimann’s ball tonight.”

“And you thought naturally I was the perfect candidate to remedy that? The poor apostate Darktown healer?” His voice was filled with self reproach, with anger and irritation at the sheer gall she had to come down here. It didn’t matter she sometimes volunteered, her calm exterior and gentle hands working wonders on frightened patients. It didn’t matter that she had donated new cots and linins or let some of her students come to help him when there was an outbreak of flu or cough. The extra hands, no matter how non magical they were, helped take pressure off him.

It didn’t matter she had braved the Deep Roads.

Lady Hawke was a cold hearted bitch. She said templars were necessary! That Circles were necessary! She liked Grand Cleric Elthina, she was Aveline’s best friend and supported the Guard and their anti-mage stance. She coddled Fenris, let his rant and rave about the evils of magic and never once tried to stop him or disagree with him. She was also so damn untouchable, so put together it made his fingers twitch to undo that sensible bun, or take off her glasses. She was too calm, too composed, he might’ve thought she was Tranquil.

She also beat him at cards.

“You were once a notable Grey Warden of Amaranthine, you were Circle raised. You’re highly educated and know how to behave at parties. You can, when you choose to, charm a crowd or intimidate unwanted suitors. Fenris also has a prior engagement.”

He rankled at that. “You came to me after that damn elf?”

“He would have enjoyed my company more than you. I did not insult you; I came to you before I went to Merrill.” Anders lips thinned at the reminder of the elves he so dearly loved to hate. Fenris and Anders were rivals in everything except their dislike of blood magic and Merrill, which they both united on.

It gave her a headache no matter what mask she wore.

He moved agitated and frustrated, turning from her sharply to go to his desk and pick up his papers. “I’ve been working on something. Something to convince you to join my cause.” She held in a frustrated sigh at his words, her lips thinning now in irritation. If it was his bloody manifesto she was going to shove it up his arse. In all actuality she wouldn’t, she’d be sorely sorely tempted to but the things she found as Heretic could have little to no bearing on how she viewed and acted like Lady Hawke. Lady Hawke would have no knowledge of the manifesto or its contents. Lady Hawke would not be privy to finding random sheets of it all around Lowtown, Darktown, the Gallows, or once even in Fenris’ mansion’s downstairs privy. “If you promise to read it, all of it. I’ll go with you to this blasted ball.”

There were worse thing she could do than read Anders’ manifesto one more time. “I accept the deal.” She came closer to him, closer than propriety would allow and she’d reach up, her finger plucking carefully at the feathers attached to Anders’ coat. “If I will also be allowed to provide more suitable attire for you to wear.” He frowned at her, unsurprisingly, and there was a battle in his eyes. Finally he nodded curtly, accepting the terms of the deal.

Stepping away, she took the papers from his hands. “I don’t understand you Lady Hawke.” He confessed frustration evident in his voice. “You’re against slavery, against the degradation of elves, yet you think the Circle and Templars are right. How could you? Was your sister not a mage? Your _father_? how could you spit on their graves like that?”

She kept her back turned to him, her shoulders taut, her body shaking from the sheer force of her fury and grief that combined in her system like a deadly poison. Even with the collar the emotions were potent, making her taste bile in her throat and tears stinging her eyes. She was lucky it was on, else something would have caught fire.

“You know nothing of me Anders, know nothing of my life or my circumstances. You see, serrah, what you wish to and what I allow you to. If I were as vile as you claim, as despicable and loathsome as you seem to find me then you would already be Tranquil.” Her voice trembled, from rage or grief or some sort of betrayal that Anders would think, would say such things to her face no matter how much good she’d done for him. “So resign yourself to eternal confusion, for I will not give my secrets away to a man who finds me hateful.”

That was the crux of every problem, of the entire reason none of her companions save Varric (and she suspected Aveline) knew of her alter ego, of the masks she wore continuously. It was why she never went to them for personal problems, and if it became too much, if life and the pressure became overwhelming she went to Varric, drowned herself in his suit and cried into his chest. For all their battle prowess, for all their skills, her companions had enough people skills and kindness of a retarded dragon in heat. Prejudices tended to rule them, no matter how they saw that everything was broken in Kirkwall, they insisted that certain problems were _so_ much more important than other equally concerning problems.

“Lady Hawke I-“ She didn’t let him finish, or if he did she didn’t hear it as she marched out of the clinic slamming the door behind her. She made her way furiously to the secret door, hauling herself up and inside before Anders decided he had to go after her.

She made it up to the front foyer before her hands scrabbled at the back of her neck and she took the gilded collar off her neck. “That stupid nug humping mother fucking overzealous templar killing bastard!” Her foot slammed into the ground, panting as the fury rolled off her in waves.

“I’ll go find an appropriate outfit for Anders then, Mistress, and send it to his clinic.”

Hawke turned, surprised to be caught in her fit of temper, then chuckled at Orana’s retreating back. She sighed then, pinching her nose as her other hand held her collar and Anders’ manifesto. Taking deep calming breaths she began to smooth out her emotions, place them in a spot that would allow her to keep her calm while she taught Ethics.

She made her way to the classroom she had designated as hers, unsurprised to find a carafe of coffee as well as cream and sugar already waiting for her. Maker bless Bodhan, he always seemed to preternaturally know when she was going to need caffeine to get through the day. Placing the collar in a desk drawer, as well as Anders’ manifesto, she made sure the classroom was in order. Pleased to see nothing out of place, she turned and began to write the highlights of the day’s topics on the board.

Then on the day passed smoothly, no difficult questions, no unexpected explosions, no bleeding wounds or screaming matches. At least in her class there were none, which she thanked the Maker for. Lunch came and went, afternoon classes finished on an uplifting note. With two carafes of coffee coursing through her system she felt energized enough to live through a ball. Thank the Maker Karl was going to take care of her duties tomorrow so she could sleep.

“Mistress, you should start getting ready.” Orana reminded her as she was starting to walk to the great hall for dinner. Nodding her thanks she changed her direction, walking to her room instead Orana following silently at Hawke’s heels.

Hawke stripped off her outfit, carefully laying it down on her bed to let Orana deal with later. The elven maid picked up the gown that Hawke was to wear that evening. It was pink, a pale almost white color, and delicate as a butterfly’s wings. The silken creation slipped over her head, layers upon layers of thin gauzy material flowed around her, the skirt almost transparent and in the right light the outline of her body could be seen beneath the flowing fabric. A rose pink corset was put on, the laces made of dark pink ribbons that shimmered slightly in the light. Delicate golden bangles adorned her wrists while pale pink heels covered her feet.

“If only you would let me do _something_ with your hair Mistress, you would be perfect.” A small smile graced Hawke’s lips and for a moment, as her eyes met Orana’s, the weight of the world melted from her shoulders and she was simply a young noblewoman getting ready for a ball with a handsome date to escort her. Then the smile dimmed and the young and foolish girl quietly slipped away to be replaced with a no less kind, but entirely older woman.

“I can’t let them think I have some sort of personality underneath it all. The dress was concession enough Orana, I’m afraid that my hair must remain so terribly unfashionable. Lady Amell is far too stern and dour for such frivolous things as lovely hair.”

Orana looked back at Hawke, her eyes sad and wise beyond even her unfathomable years. Gentle hands, calloused from years of hard household labor rested delicately on Hawke’s bared shoulders. Hawke reached a hand up and covered one of Orana’s hands with her own, silence poignant as they both said what words could not say.

“One day Mistress, you will be allowed to be as beautiful as you want.” Orana was first to break the spell, her voice quiet and gentle.

“I await that day on bated breath Orana and I’ll let you do whatever you want with my hair when it comes. Even mother will be pleased I suspect.” Hawke closed her eyes then, letting the knowledge that at least one person understood all the sacrifices she made for her dream seep into her skin. At least one person cared.

Three chimes echoed throughout the Academy, Bodhan alerting all the students that a visitor was on the premises and all magical activity needed to cease immediately. It was also her signal that Anders had arrived. She put on her hated collar, feeling her connection to the Fade lessen, her ability to feel lessen.

She gave Orana a final gentle smile before leaving her room.

Anders stood in the foyer, looking nervous and uncomfortable in the black suit Orana had sent to him. The jacket was long, brushing at Anders’ knees while a white collared shirt lay underneath and a black tie made it formal. His hair was down, which came as a surprise to her, but he looked clean if a little scruffy still. A black top hat completed the ensemble and if Hawke didn’t know Anders like her own shadow she might not have recognized him.

At the sound of rustling fabric he looked up, irritation in his eyes for the briefest of moments before it melted away.

She was a vision, her skin pale and creamy given a healthy glow by the pink of her dress. It had no sleeves, leaving her shoulders and arms maddeningly bare save for the delicate bracelets that jingled at her wrists. She floated on the air, her face serene, and for a moment he thought that Andraste herself had come to him. Andraste would have been no more moving than the sight of Hawke, calm cool headed Hawke looking like a princess or a spirit or something beautiful and divine and utterly pure. He saw the swell of her hips beneath the fabric, silhouettes of her long shapely legs that he could imagine were as pale and smooth as those lovely shoulders.

Legs he wanted to wrap around him as he pinned her to a wall. The only thing that made the outfit seem off, now that he picked his jaw off the floor, was the damnable choker clasped to her neck. He knew not the insanity that made that fool woman wear something with lyrium in it, and it made him a little nervous. Especially since _Justice_ was fascinated with Lady Hawke.

 **  
_She is beautiful, like Aura._   
**

The thought echoed in his head, not his own. Justice, Justice was fascinated by Hawke, frustrated by her like Anders, and confused as to his own obsession. He didn’t know where it came from, he didn’t know what started it, whether it was entirely his own or if somehow Anders had affected him there too.

Neither part wished to find out the answer to that question.

He took her hand, before she offered it to him and bowed, sweeping his hat off his head. His lips lingered over her skin, taking in the warm floral tones that encompassed her perfume. It was exotic and familiar, Andraste’s grace with vanilla and sandalwood, hints of amber. He finally pressed his lips to her hand, feeling her smooth skin under his lips like the sweetest poison. She would kill him one day, this burning frustration, the dual urges to kill her or kiss her.

Letting go of her hand he straightened, placing the hat back on his head and staring into her eyes. “Good Evening Lady Hawke.”

“Good evening Warden Anders.” He frowned at the title placed before his name, he had left the Wardens years ago, yet he also knew the necessity of her firm unwavering support of that lie. A lie he had to stomach, but he would do so because she promised to read his manifesto.

It had nothing to do with the way she left his clinic today, how he knew he had dug into and opened wounds that had never quite healed. She’d only spoken of her father, briefly, once when they first met telling Anders that he was an apostate. He’d learned from Varric that there had been an another apostate in her family, a sister that Hawke never spoke of. She’d been killed by an ogre, it was ironic that her twin’s life would also be taken by the taint, though unlike her swiftly horrific death Carver would have years before his Calling came.

“You look lovely tonight.” He was forcing himself to be polite, she suspected. Why she couldn’t understand, their relationship when she took off the mask was filled with bitterness and deliberate misunderstandings, anger and hurtful words.

“Thank you, you look handsome as well.” She meant it, and longed to reach up to touch his cheek. Her hands stayed put at her sides, until he turned and gently grasped her elbow, propelling her forward and then offered his arm to her. She took it, with all the genteel nobility that her mother had instilled in her. No one simply glancing at them would be able to tell she had spent her years growing up on the run, that she’d lived in small decrepit hovels until she moved to Kirkwall and rebuilt her family’s fortune.

They walked through the Hightown streets, neither wishing to find the academy’s carriage carriage and use it or to flag down a taxi. The night air was cool, but not chilled, and the walk was completed in a tense silence.

They came to the Harimann’s estate, walking up the steps arm in arm. Music wafted through the air like perfume and they were escorted through the house, taken to the back where the garden was. Stepping out onto the balcony Hawke sucked in a quiet breath, the beauty of the ball shocking her.

The rose garden was in full bloom, hundreds if not thousands of roses surrounded them in complete splendor. The fountain in the middle of the garden had been converted to the dance floor, a glass cover made to lay over it, reflecting back the night sky as dancers glided across the surface. Lanterns hung in the trees, giving enough light to see by, to feel comfortable but not too much, not enough to take away the magic of the garden.

“This is amazing.” Finally came her soft wonder filled response, eyes wide taking in the fantastical beauty.

This is what she fought for. Not the nobles dancing away like there was nothing wrong with the world, with the city they lived in. It wasn’t even the beauty, but the ability to find it. To find loveliness in even the darkest of places. This is why she fought, because a world without beauty, without love and hope and all the good things in life, was a world she didn’t want to live in.

“Come.” Anders took the lead, gently tugging her away from the balcony and down the stone stairs to the garden. He stopped only once, to pluck a fragrant white rose from a nearby bush, and without asking he turned, sliding it into her bun with a smile. “There, now you look perfect. Perhaps I’ll even be able to pawn you off to someone mildly respectable for a dance.” His teasing was gentler than it normally was, the acidic tone absent as he gazed at her with something (if Hawke didn’t know better) resembling fondness. She flushed a light pink and turned her gaze from him, her lips pursing as she fought off the giddy rush.

It was foolish. It was terribly unwise. Whatever had caused this truce would not last, would never last. She’d lied to him, she’d deceived him, he hated her, he loved her, their wishes were the same but their methods different, so very different. It could never be, even this, this rivalry and friendship they shared would one day disappear. Just as it would never, could never, be with Fenris.

That knowledge that she could never have either one, that she could never be herself with them, made her heart ache. It made her throat burn and her pulse points hurt. Hawke had to be alone, it was the only way to get through the long upward battle she knew she’d forever be fighting.

“Unless Brother Sebastian or Ser Cullen are here I very much doubt you’ll find a respectable man to pawn me off on.” She watched the thinning of his mouth at her reminder of what she believed respectable people to be. The enchantment seemed to fall away for a moment before something warred in his eyes and something was defeated.

“Not tonight, we can fight tomorrow.” His voice was quiet and earnest. “You’re too beautiful to hate tonight. Let us have this one night, where we hide away from what we’re supposed to be. One night where you don’t say the things that will make me angry and I won’t try to force you to be who you are not. Tonight, Lady Hawke, is ours.”

She looked at him, her lips trembled for a moment and she fought, she fought his eyes, she fought his foolish misplaced gentleness. She needed his anger, his frustration to keep him at bay. He proposed a miracle, a disaster.

“Only tonight Anders. We cannot offer ourselves more, believe that there could be more. We are who we are for a reason.” He took her hand then and placed a kiss to her palm then turned and tilted his face in it.

“Then tonight we are without it.”

Tonight he could take her if he wanted to, he knew it, could taste it in the air. Yet he didn’t want that. He wanted her, he ached for Lady Hawke almost as much as he ached for the Heretic. If he was going to have her, it would not be because of some truce where reason was thrown away for a single night. No, if he was going to have her in his bed, he’d likely keep her there. No matter his misgivings, his anger and frustration with her, even he could recognize she deserved more than a rough tumble.

Besides, as much as it left a bitter taste in his mouth, Fenris would need someone once he finally managed to woo the Heretic. No one in their group of friends were blind to the general love or hate Fenris and Anders held for the two women. It was hard not to love or hate both.

Still an apostate would likely be a disaster for Fenris while a noblewoman would be a disaster for Anders.

They could split the difference, each get a woman, and everyone would be happy. Except Anders and Fenris both knew they’d forever want a taste of the other’s lover. Anders was trying to get his need out now, trying to get his curiosity sated before any ill came from his subtle plan. The plan that had gotten Varric to laugh manically and toast him mockingly.

There was little else Anders could do though, he was being driven mad by the sheer want that made him awake in the night aching with need. A need that would likely not go away now that he’d seen Hawke flush prettily and look so damnably adorable when she would not meet his eyes for a second.

How many men had wooed her?

None in Kirkwall, that he knew of, and he would know since Varric more often than not told everyone in the Hanged Man the most ridiculously exaggerated stories about her. Honestly using a stick to defeat a monstrous spider? A dragon? That her school was actually an insane asylum for talented but damaged individuals who needed Hawke’s personal brand of badassery to learn how to make it in the world. That Hawke met Flemeth and managed to get safety during her escape from the Blight. Varric was simply making up a hero, like the city needed two of them. The Saintly Hawke and the Devilish Heretic. Anders felt if Varric had his way both women would meet and have an epic life or death battle in the middle of Kirkwall during an invasion of dragons or Orlesians, either would be equally nasty and smelled just as awful.

If one man besides him or Fenris made puppy eyes at her, Varric would have informed him or Fenris, and there’d be a new corpse littering the streets of Kirkwall. Sebastian didn’t count because he was a Brother of the Chantry and was holding onto his vows desperately like a child with their favorite stuffed toy.

Still there was some masculine swell of pride as he escorted her to the drink table, knowing that out of all the beautiful women here Hawke outshone them all in their opulent finery. Even with her glasses and firmly bound hair, she outshone them. This woman was his for the night by some trick of fate or chance, it was Anders not Fenris who was on her arm. It would be Anders, not Fenris, who got to dance with her and make all the subtle touches that would keep unwanted suitors away.

This night it would be Anders, not Fenris, who would get to pretend that he was special enough to have her as his own.

He stood next to her, quietly looming at her side. Anders was tall and he was muscular enough, and while the suit was entirely appropriate it made her throat a little dry seeing him wear something not held together with bandages, prayers to the Maker, and covered with several unfortunate birds. If they were different people, if her station were not so high and duties so very strong and he not a revolutionary of mages then perhaps they could have something more.

Yet, she thought as she sipped from a delicate crystal flute, would she not think similar things when with Fenris? Were she not a mage, were she not a vigilante, were she not the headmistress to a school of apostates, and were he not an ex slave who hated magic, were he less rule oriented then perhaps she could encourage him more.

Was it not amusing that the two biggest labels that could be attached to either man, apostate and elf, she cared nothing for? She would have loved either one regardless if life had been different. Though if life had been different they likely would never have fallen into this awkward dance of hate and love.

“Shall we dance?” He asked her as she placed her empty glass back on the table. Her lips turned upwards into a small smile that barely teased the corner of her lips. He understood how much she detested these parties, how she detested that she was usually sequestered away in a corner having her ear being practically raped but some dreadfully dull dandy who thought the best way to start trying to woo her was to talk of numbers and politics and the pleasant state of the weather. If she did not have a role to play she would likely end up barking mad.

“Yes, escape before we’re caught. I like the way you think.” He took her hand, leading her to the dance floor as her other loosely held her skirts, he bowed to her and she curtsied and then they were dancing. She would lie if she said it wasn’t magical, the music in the air, the scent of the roses, the feeling like she was dancing on the sky.

It was a dream, a wonderful dream to be like this.

And like all dreams it came to an end.

They didn’t notice it at first, the world was far away from them, their troubles their pain. It was gone and they were light enough they could fly away from here, that the issues between templars and mages were gone, that criminals didn’t prowl the streets night after night, that monsters lived in and near the city, that the veil was so dangerously thin.

Then it began to creep on them, a sense of dread, a dark whispering just beyond their range of understanding. Cool clammy intangible fingers teased up their spines and their stomachs turned because something had gone terribly utterly wrong.

In one moment they paused together, eyes briefly meeting an understanding passed between them. A scream pierced the air a heartbeat later, then another, and then everything went to shit. A fireball exploded near them and men poured out into the garden, weapons swinging wildly as a foul coppery scent stained the air.

Blood magic.

Her heart chilled and her stomach felt uneasy for the single moment it took to register on her muted fade senses. Anders whipped her behind him, his stance defensive as a faint blow began to crack his skin. She grabbed his shoulders, tugging his arms to gain his attention.

“Calm down and run.” She threw her weight backwards, holding onto him as she tugged him further from the chaos erupting around them, the shades that began to appear and overtake the handful of guards posted. He followed her reluctantly as she dove for a side path, trying to form a plan in her mind. Scrabbling desperately at her fade senses to make sure she could keep herself free from the bloody strings being woven in the minds of the weak.

They hid behind a tree, her back pressed against the bark as she panted. His jaw was tense and he looked at war with himself. She could practically hear his teeth grinding in frustration. Justice was trying to break free, not that she was supposed to know Justice or of him. Still she knew he was in no shape to lead them into battle.

“Anders.” Her voice was firm, catching his attention. “I’ll draw their attention, when they’re focused on me start sniping them with long ranged attacks. I’ll keep them busy up front, and if we’re lucky city guards will come to our aide soon.”

“Are you mad? You-“

“I have the best healer in Thedas watching my back, besides you won’t let them kill me. You want the pleasure of that all to yourself.” Her smile was a ghostly version of the teasing smile that would have turned her lips upwards. He looked at her, eyes narrowed and nodding. He may not like it, but she’d braved the Deep Roads. Any one who could survive that could manage a band of blood mages, their thralls, and a handful of shades.

They moved, turning back and creeping through the garden towards the battle. She paused only long enough to take a bladed staff from a dead mage, felled by a guard with a sword to the gut. The magic was there, just out of her reach, but she wouldn’t need that to do this.

She gave a final glance to Anders, who looked at her like she was half mad for grabbing a mage’s weapon. “Varric wasn’t lying when he said I beat a Hurlock to death with a stick.” She quipped before turning and running into the fray a war cry at her lips.

All who were there would have the image of her forever planted in their minds, the swirling dress that shimmered in the light, the arcs of blood splatter as the wicked blade at the end of her borrowed staff. Death would forever be a woman, beautiful and fierce as she was cold, graceful as a wild cat and as tenacious as a mabari. Fire and lightening flowed around her in waves, ice freezing opponents long enough for her shatter their heads, leaving a headless corpse to thaw for later.

“W-who…who are you?”

Her cold green eyes went to the blood mage backed into a corner. Her smile was cold, beautiful, and deadly.

“Who am I? I am Moirae Hawke, lady, daughter of Malcolm and Leandra Hawke. I am the right hand of Vengeance. I am the boot that is going to kick your ass all the way back to the Void, sweetheart. I am death incarnate, and the last living thing you will ever see. The Maker sent me.”

Hawke tilted her head, a subtle nod that had Anders pulling fire from the air, raining fireballs down around her on the thralls and shades that had begun to circle around her. Screams rang through the air as she ran forward, focused almost entirely on the blood mages.

It wasn’t until it was too late to do anything that she noticed the desire demon that threw her into the side of the Harimann’s mansion. A sickening crack and pain so intense she nearly vomited coursed through her. That was worse than her broken ribs, she thought dully. Her collar might allow her to not feel emotions as clearly but pain was a physical sensation.

Her body was lifted then, the air collapsing around her, pushing pressure onto her broken arm that made her scream. Hawke’s back arched, lips open as she grimaced, tears streaming down her face as she waited for the pain to just stop. The spell ended before it could kill her, but she was useless now lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. Her breathing ragged as she tried to force herself into a sitting position, unwilling to let Anders take the brunt of the attack.

“Bitch.”

The mage from before, gathered his courage and kicked her to the side, making her gasp and choke. She mustered a disdainful glare, spitting blood out of her mouth. Before Anders could get to her, before anyone could come to her aid, a knife was out and buried into her chest.

“No! Don’t be dead! Please!” She could hear Anders in the background. As well as battle cries and clanking armor. She felt a humorless chuckle fall from her lips and blood welled up and trickled down her cheek as a sword made its way through the blood mage’s chest. His eyes wide with surprise as he looked down at her as his life was ripped from him. At least Hawke hadn’t lied on that account.

“Not today Hawke! Not while I’m here!”

A familiar voice, a beloved voice called to her as she saw her favorite woman shaped battering ram standing between her and the enemies still left. Carroty red hair distinguished Guard Captain Aveline from the rest, well that and the fact she was slaughtering everything within her reach.

Then Anders face was above her, pale and worried and furious all at once. “Don’t you dare, don’t you dare leave me.” His hands hovered above her, glowing blue as he began to heal her, the magic seeped into her and did…

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some secrets are revealed, others kept, and Justice makes an appearance.

“Hawke.”

The firm voice of Aveline had her rousing from her drowsy state, eyes blinking open to look fuzzily at the guardswoman. She stood at attention to one side of her bed, Varric next to her. She smiled wearily at them.

“I’ve sent the others away Hawke. I need to question you as to what happened when the Followers of She attacked the Harimann’s a fornight ago and why you’ve suddenly lost all your magical abilities.” Aveline tilted her head towards Varric. “He’s here to record the information, and keep whatever secrets you need kept.”

“A…fornight? I thought I’d been resting for only a few hours.”  
“Hawke you nearly died, twice. I had to literally use your mother to guilt both Anders and Fenris into going out and getting a few of your things to make this place more comfortable. Neither were amused, but we needed to speak privately.” Hawke had to hand it to Aveline, the guardswoman really did know how to use her weapons. Leandra was a master of manipulation, not that she’d ever admit to it. It was why Leandra was put in charge of the youngest students, the mother of two apostates, the noblewoman couldn’t be ruffled by the occasional outburst of magic. That and she had a way with bending even the surliest of children to her will.

Hawke looked at Aveline and Varric for a long moment. “They’re really gone?” She finally asked, voice quiet yet steady, almost monotone but not quite. At Aveline’s sharp nod Hawke looked at Varric.

“Take it off Varric.” Her command was followed swiftly, the dwarf taking off her choker, fiddling with the hidden clasps and snatching it away. As if a curtain had been lifted Hawke’s posture changed, stiffening and wincing, her face came alive. “The choker, it helps repress certain…unwanted abnormalities and apparently helps me resist magic.”

“It also makes her into a creepy doll woman thing. Shit Hawke, you’re so-“

“Stupid. That’s what you are, stupid. A fool of the highest order.” Aveline snapped and Hawke chuckled. Aveline shot her a look that had the mirth quieting for a moment, well it was that or the sudden pain that told her laughing wasn’t a good idea right now.

“You know I need it to walk free and remain anonymous.” Hawke pointed out and Aveline glared.

“You’ve never remained anonymous with me Hawke. I’ve always known who you were. I can’t see why the others can’t.”

“That’s because you always look for the truth Aveline, they always look for what they want to see.” She sighed, wincing again at the reminder that anything regarding her chest was off limits. Aveline softened slightly before the mask fell into place. “Well at least I know why your involvement was purely physical. Anders being a Warden saved him from trouble, for now. Tell me what happened.”

Hawke looked at Varric for a moment and he nodded, their subtle wordless language that helped him understand her as intimately as a platonic soulmate could. She refrained from taking a deep breath and began to tell what happened as concisely as possible. How she and Anders had felt something right before it happened, how the attack was organized only to kill, how shades and demons kept popping up even after she had taken out a number of thralls and a handful of mages. She spoke of how she’d tried to distract the attackers, buying time for Anders to use powerful area spells, how she’d been on a roll til a demon, desire if she remembered correctly, surprised her. She spoke of all that she could remember, of mages and tactics, of spells Anders used that she could remember, how she remembered the knife sinking into her flesh and how Aveline came to her rescue.

When she was finished Varric closed his book. “You know Hawke, there are days I think you’re insane and then there are others when I know you are. Seriously you and Blondie? Next time bring someone who really is proficient with the sharp and pointies.”

“Varric it was a ball.”

“Precisely, you and I know that Hightown is Lowtown with fancy clothes. Next time go prepared.” She huffed out a laugh, groaning and cursing his name as he finished gathering up his things. Aveline watched him for a moment before leaning over and touching her forehead to Hawke’s. “Get well soon, I’m missing having to make legitimate reports about Heretic.” Her voice was quiet and warm before she straightened up. Nodding at Hawke curtly she strode to the door and out of it, leaving Hawke alone.

It wasn’t until five minutes later when Anders and Fenris walked in through the door that she realized something was amiss. Both of their eyes drew down, lingering on her neck and at the absent necklace they’d never seen her without.

“Aveline said I should…” Anders took a step forward, hands glowing blue as he touched her cheek. When the magic seeped in, when it lightened the horrific bruise that had only just begun to lighten did he let out a sob of relief. He didn’t care how different she felt or how Fenris would react as his hands glowed brighter, calling more magic, calling more power to seep into her exhausted broken body. He pumped magic into her stab wound, horrified at how deep it went, how close it had been to knicking something utterly vital. He pushed as much magic as he could into her, mending the break in her arm almost completely.

He stopped when exhaustion began to make itself known. Sitting down on the bed and staring at her, trying to figure out what was different now in all the times he’d tried to heal her over the last two weeks. His eyes lingered at her pale naked throat; wondering if that damn necklace was the cause. It seemed likely, the moment it was gone he could heal her.

“Lady Hawke you-” Fenris began, softly and for a moment he reached out, hesitant, unsure, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, his fingers barely touching her skin. Yet he drew his hand away, horror flashing across his features. Betrayal twisting in his eyes as he looked at her like she was some sort of monster.

“Fenris.” Anders was confused but his tone was one of warning, not understanding what had caused the sudden reaction in the broody elf. Hawke was better, no longer in danger of dying, but she was still not well. Her body weak, and while the worst had been mended she was still hurt, still vulnerable.

“How?” Fenris ignored Anders, spitting the question out at Hawke like a dagger to the heart. She closed her eyes, swallowing as she could feel his lyrium markings reacting and could practically hear Anders’ rage at Fenris’ behavior mounting. “How could you hide?”

“What are you talking about? Calm down elf!” Anders barked, only to have Fenris whirl towards him a snarl on his lips. The lyrium markings flared, blue light enveloping the room for a single moment.

“Can you not even notice one of your own kind, mage?”

“What are you talking about? Lady Hawke’s mundane.” Anders shouted back and Hawke realized that she was getting too old for dealing with this shit. Not that it would stop her, not that she’d leave them, but their constant bickering was tiresome and draining. “You are. Aren’t you?” The doubt creeping into his voice would soon give way to its own betrayal. Anders and Fenris would never admit how similar they were to each other.

“Fenris.” Hawke called out gently, trying to catch his attention. He heard her, she could hear his sharp sudden intake of breath. She could feel the fury radiating off of him, and Anders now in turn. “Fenris.” She called again, her voice gentle, coaxing, like she used when she had a scared child to bring with her.

“I…yes, I am an apostate.” There was a wounded sound, and for once she couldn’t figure out which one of them made it. Perhaps they both did. She tried to keep her voice calm, level; she was too weak to exert much control over her own magic. “The choker I wear dampens my connection to the Fade, it makes me almost Tranquil.” There was another sound, and her gaze drifted to Anders, his skin blanched his eyes disbelieving, horrified, and he looked almost like he was going to be ill.

“Years Hawke, we’ve known you for years. I assume the dwarf knows, and Aveline, but why lie to us?” Fenris dropped her title and she felt her guilt dig a little bit further into her heart. Her good hand clenched into the sheets as she fought to keep looking at them, no matter the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes.

“What choice have you given me?” Her voice lowered, hoarse, harsh, and anguished. “What opportunity was there to say ‘Fenris I’m a mage, but don’t worry I’d never hurt you like a magister. I’d never use magic to control or harm you.’ Or ‘Anders, I’m a mage too fancy not trying make me see everything your way or make me into a symbol and we can talk arcane arts?’. You’ve made both your views clear, crystal, and I never felt _safe_. So I never took the damn thing off.” She wiped at the tears on her face, clenching her teeth for a moment. “I’m not the only person whose going to be affected if I’m ever caught, ever suspected. Mother would lose the only child she has left with her, the school would likely be closed down.”

“You were willing to die to keep that a secret. Are you so ashamed of yourself that you’d rather die than be known as a mage?”

Hawke stubbornly tilted her head up towards Anders, trying to grasp at the edges of her wounded dignity. “The only shame I have Anders, is the fact I have to lie to people I call friends. I have never been shamed by my magic, of my sister or father. I told you before I will never give my secrets away to any man who finds me hateful.” He was reminded then, of weeks past when he’d dug into wounds trying to hurt her and she had told him that. How many secrets had she kept, how much did he really know about her?

Fenris stood then, cursing in Arcanum as he stormed out. She could hear the front door slam a few minutes later and Anders stared at her. He stared at her like she was some stranger wearing the face of someone he knew, he was floundering and she turned her head away from him. “Just…go Anders. You’ve healed as much as you can right now.”

“Hawke I-“

“GO!” She shouted at him and his jaw clenched, nodding curtly her turned, exiting the room. She only had herself to blame for this mess. She only had her own actions to examine. Hawke did not deserve her own tears, but she cried them anyway. Shame filling her at being weak, for not being good enough to keep them from being hurt by her own hand. She had to be perfect, she had to meet standards that everyone else asked for her, and nothing less. If she didn’t…it would end up like this.

Wriggling and swinging her legs over the side her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. Wincing, she wrapped Fenris’ sheet around her, holding it together with her good arm as she stood. The world tilted dangerous, her body pitching to the side as she almost lost consciousness. Only through sheer force of her stubborn will did she remain standing, panting, as instincts born and bred into her took over.

She wasn’t sure how long it took her to make it out of Fenris’ room and down the darkened hallway. She ignored the burning ache in her chest, the throbbing of her still wounded arm. Magic could heal only so much before the body had to rest, risking over taxation and danger to the person being healed. She knew this, knew it instinctively as a healer. She leaned against a wall, panting, sweating from exertion, but she drew her stubborn will and pride to her and kept walking.

If Hawke had been born an elf she would have made a fine Dalish.

She made it to the top of the stairs. Looking down the grand winding staircase she bolstered herself. She’d done worse, made it through worse than one blighted staircase. She gingerly stepped down, one, two, three, four, five, six stairs. Her chest heaved, gasping for breath and wondering when she’d gotten so out of shape. She stepped down again, a surprised cry escaping her as she slipped falling backwards. Her head hit a sharp edge and blinding pain rocketed through her head as she began to slide down, each step jarring her painfully.

She only stopped when she reached the bottom, her body bruised and aching with pain, her eyes dazedly taking in the splatters of red forming around her. “Oh…that’s not good.” Perhaps it was an understatement, she couldn’t help it. Her ability to make witty remarks had failed somewhere between the beginning of the staircase and the bottom, having lost her mind somewhere between.

“Hawke!” A sharp panicked voice came from her right and she struggled to sit up and look dignified. All she managed to do was get halfway up, tilt precariously to the side, before hands grasped her shoulders and steadied her.

“Festis bei umo canavarum.” A dark voice snarled at her and she gave Fenris a small smile. “I apologize I don’t speak Arcanum. Can you…nngh clarify?” Her cheekiness was ill timed as the hands on her shoulders tightened, making her gasp for a moment.

“You will be the death of me, Lady Hawke.” He growled and gently lowered her to the ground. He stepped away, walking past her and up a few stairs to grab the blighted sheet she’d let go of during her tumble down the stairs. Coming back he carefully covered her, knowing despite everything that seeing her only clothed in smalls and bandages was inappropriate. “Stay _put_ while I fetch the abomination.” His voice was furious as he stomped off, leaving her to her own devices.

Which he should admittedly not have done when he came back with Anders in tow and found her six feet from where he’d left her. He cursed again, cursed her for her secrets, cursed her for her stubbornness. Cursed himself, cursed Anders, cursed the Maker for cursing her with magic.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasles.” Anders cursed, kneeling down beside her and letting his healing magic flow into her, checking her for serious injuries. “How did she? You shouldn’t have had the strength to make it out of bed, let alone the bloody staircase.” Anders growled, frustration and worry coloring his tone. Once he was certain that she was well enough he moved to pick her up, only to be pushed out of the way.

Fenris scooped her up, ignoring Anders’ dirty glare as he began to take her back up the stairs. It was quiet, even though Hawke was awake and aware. The sheer fury from both men silencing even her glib tongue. They made it back to Fenris room and the former slave laid her on his bed.

“Why?” Fenris was the first to break the silence, his lyrium markings glowing and his body tensed and battle ready. Anders stood beside him, neither man caring how close they were to each other as they turned their twin glares down at the infuriatingly stubborn woman.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t want a mage in your home, in your bed, longer than was necess-“ His fist went right beside her head and he was half on top of her, though not touching her, keeping their bodies respectably apart.

“When did I say that? When did I indicate that you were to leave the premises and nearly kill yourself in the process? When did I give you permission to _leave **my** bed_?” Fenris growled looming over her threateningly. “Never! I am angry. Furious at you, at the world, at myself, but not once did I tell you that you were to leave. You are not leaving, not until I know you are not going to die. You are never going to die, not by your own foolishness, I will not allow it. So stay in this bed, you will allow Anders to watch over you and if I see you somewhere where you shouldn’t be I will bind you. Clear?”

Her eyes were wide and she opened her mouth, lips parting slightly as she gasped. Nodding her head slightly in agreement to his terms he moved away from her. “I will be downstairs, summon me if you need help containing her.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Anders waited a few heartbeats before he sat down next to her.

There was silence and emotions played across his haggard face until he finally settled on something akin to reproach and concern. “I never meant to make you feel in danger.” He finally said his tone clipped as he took a lock of hair and ran it through his fingers, marveling at how silky it felt. “You’ve helped me time and again, and all I could do was snap at you, antagonize you, and you made it so easy. You probably did it on purpose, and I was a fool not to see it. You’ve always been running, been hiding, and now you live in the spotlight and have to stay stationary. You have balls bigger than a Qunari, Lady Hawke. For…for what it’s worth I’m sorry I never earned your trust.”

He paused for a moment letting his words sink into her and settle into her mind. “He’s angry, not just about the magic bit…but about the fact you couldn’t trust us like we trust you. We’ve just had to watch you nearly die, nearly leave us, and for what? To keep a secret we would have kept for you, kept with you. All the pain and loneliness you would have felt, all the fear you kept inside, you held alone while we piled burden upon burden on you. How we both asked, and sometimes demanded, things be done and you did them. You always did them without asking for anything from us in return. We’re angry at ourselves and each other. We’re going to have to work on this, we’re going to have to find a way to get you to trust us. I know I can’t bear the thought of life without you, and if I can’t Fenris would likely go insane. One day Lady Hawke, you’ll learn to trust us, you’ll learn that we’d do anything to protect you, and that your secrets are safe.”

“Don’t.” She whispered turning her face away from Anders, trembling slightly as tears began to fall from her eyes. “Don’t say such things to me. It makes it harder, so much harder to do what is necessary. I can’t Anders, don’t ask it of me. There’s a reason why I have to keep you away, why I have to be alone.”

“If it isn’t your magic, then what is it?”

“I can’t tell you.” Her voice was soft as she tried to turn onto her side, away from him, away from the dream that she longed to have. She had to run, she couldn’t…so many people depended on her and she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t give in.

“You will, one day. When you see that it’s safe.” He pet her hair soothingly, a movement reminiscent of what Karl did when he had to piece her back together and she was in agony. He’d be so furious, he’d never trust her if he found out all that she’d done, all that she’d lied about.

“It’s never safe Anders, it never will be.” He leaned over and placed a kiss to her cheek, his stubble scratching her skin tantalizingly, comfortingly. He pulled back a hand skimming over her shoulder and down the skin of her arm.

“It will be, one day. I’ll make sure of that.”

She didn’t realize until it had happened that he had placed the sleep spell on her. She could feel the tingle of his magic, the warmth enveloping her comfortingly like a blanket and then unconsciousness.

The Fade was always so awkward when one was aware of being there. The sepia tones and the odd unnatural shapes made the realm seem so unreal…but it was real, it was tangible to her and she sighed resigning herself to an aware resting period of the Fade. There were days she felt like the Maker was laughing at her.

She spied the dreamscapes of others near her but stayed put. One could never be too careful in the Fade. Besides it was terribly intrusive to go into peoples’ dreams or nightmares without their permission. It was too invasive and private, which made her itch to go and look but conditioned herself to stay put.

Hawke laid back on the soft pseudo grass covering the landscape, arms folded behind her head. She had done this before, a lifetime ago when she lived in Lothering. She missed the chest high grass, the days where she Bethany and Carver ran and hid amongst the greenery, always venturing too close to the Wilds.

“Lady Hawke.” She startled badly, her limbs flailing as she tried to right herself as quickly as possible. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a fish out of water, trying to speak but not getting the right words. Her eyes were wide as she took in the familiar face, the stubble, the half ponytail that infuriated and intrigued her. She saw the blue cracks in his skin, the glowing eyes and the…armor that she’d never seen Anders don before. The sword and shield strapped to his back made her wonder if that had been Justice’s weapons of choice long ago when the Fade spirit was simply a spirit.

“I…” She paused, knowing she wasn’t supposed to know who Justice was. “Anders?” She queried lightly, even though she knew despite the face it wasn’t Anders before her. The stern frown and the narrowed eyes focusing on her answered her question before Justice could speak.

“I am Justice, Anders has never told you of me but I know of you Lady Hawke.” He took a step forward, invading her personal space like it wasn’t there to begin with. She supposed that Justice would have no concept of it; still it made her fight the urge to take a step back. “You are intriguing, even more so in light of your abilities.” He frowned as if he knew this was not what he wanted to say or was supposed to.

He tilted his head to look at her, his gaze piercing and she wondered if Fade spirits could read minds. None of the literature said they could, but that meant nothing.

“I wanted to find you Lady Hawke. I wanted you to meet me, know that you have nothing to fear.” He frowned, his gaze and tone serious. “In the waking world I am influenced by Anders to a certain degree. His anger is mine, his prejudices are mine, just as I effect parts of him. We are violent when I am the one in control.” He shifted closer when he saw her widening eyes, her surprised looks. “Yet no violent intent will ever be directed at you. I swear it, you are…” He searched for the word as he looked at her face. “precious. No templar will ever take you, my lady. I could never bear to see you in chains.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was quiet and his presence electrified her. Even in this dream his aura was overpowering, like living lyrium. He nodded at her thanks, not moving away.

“Even I knew fear when I saw you fall at the Bloodmage’s blade. I too was worried when you resisted our magic, and when Anders slept I could not find your spirit in the Fade.” He reached up and cradled her cheek with a gauntleted hand. “I feared for you Lady Hawke. I am Justice and I should know no fear only righteousness.”

She couldn’t move, stunned by the power of his confession. It took a moment, several heartbeats before she smiled at him. She opened her mouth to reply to him, but he leaned forward cutting off her words with a gentle brush of his lips. He moved back, staring at her. She blinked at him owlishly, too stunned to move when he leaned forward again, slanting his mouth over hers and giving her the gentlest kiss she’d ever received.

All her romantic life before had been quick fumbles, hard desperate kisses, trying to make use of time she did not have. Before this, before Kirkwall she’d been but a poor farmer’s daughter, a secret apostate, gentle kisses had never been meant for her. They were for Ladies, for Love. Not for a passably pretty girl who could haggle a sister out of her soul. Such kisses were not meant for her, even when she’d been engaged to another apostate’s son. Even if she had for a moment loved him, he had never returned the favor and now he rotted in his blight ridden grave.

He made her feel…special. Like a woman, a beloved, not…herself. Not what she knew she really was, but it was his gentle insistence, lips plying hers open and his tongue slipping inside her mouth tasting and memorizing her that undid her. Hawke relaxed, feeling one of his arms wrap around her waist, holding her firmly, protectively. The other pulled her hair down, threading his fingers through her hair to hold her in place.

He broke the kiss, breath ghosting across her slightly swollen kiss damp lips. He breathed in her breath and returned it, making her shiver at the intimacy. His fingers idly moved down to caress her neck and he pulled a little further away.

“Justice.” She finally found her voice and he smiled. “You…” She found herself at a loss for words, kiss addled and so terribly confused as to why a spirit had kissed her. No, she was beginning to see why and the prospect frightened her. She was not so special as to gain the attention of a spirit, not Justice. Yet he stood here in the Fade with her, holding her, telling her how scared he had been when he almost lost her.

“Do you share your thoughts with Anders?” She finally said and Justice frowned.

“Some, tis more emotions than actual thoughts. We are together and separate.”

Hawke looked up into the ancient eyes of Justice, the spirit who wore Anders face, who was Anders. She hesitantly reached up, caressing the stubbled cheek. She searched him, for any falsehood, for any deception and found none. “If I gave you a secret, could you keep it from Anders?” Justice gave her a searching look, his face tensing but he nodded.

There were so many to choose from, so many secrets she had that she could give to Justice. Yet one shined above all the rest, the center of her web of lies and shadows. She hardened herself, steeled herself taking a breath. Hawke would have moved away if Justice wasn’t holding her so firmly, keeping her so close to him.

“I am…I am Heretic, Justice.” She had never seen a look of utter shock on a spirit’s face before, and if at some point she could look back on this moment and remember it in its entirety she would likely laugh. “I know who you are, how you came to be with Anders. I know it, and…I have never feared you. I have feared for you, for Anders, but never you.”

“All these years I have let my disapproval be known to Anders for his obsession of Heretic, while trying to encourage his infatuation of you, and it has been you all along.” Justice said, the confusion slipping away into something close to marvel and disapproval. “I do not understand your need to lie and hide from him, from us, my Lady, but I will keep my word. Your faith will not go unrewarded.” He placed a kiss to her forehead, gentle and possessive. “I, we, will do our best to keep you from harm. I swear to you. Now wake my Lady. I will find you again.”

His words were a command she could not help but heed. She woke in Fenris’ room, her heart pounding in her chest. She moved from her side onto her back, sitting up and looking around the room. Her eyes found Anders’ still sleeping figure, uncomfortably arranged in a wing backed chair, head tilted back and a faint snore emanating from him. Seeing him there, seeing him be _Anders_ and thinking of _Justice_ made her pale cheek flush with embarrassed heat. She’d just been kissed by a Fade spirit! She’d just had the most tender meaningful kiss with a being that was and wasn’t human in equal turns now. Did the kiss even count? It happened in the Fade of all places, and Maker his tongue…

An embarrassed groan lodged itself in the back of her throat as she put her overheated face in her hands, trying to beat back the slew of emotions that were running rampant through her body.

“Hawke?” Fenris asked from the doorway, trying to hold onto his anger while he watched Hawke blush like a maiden and look like she’d just been propositioned by a dockside whore to have an Antivan Milk Sandwich. It was hard to do so as she practically squirmed in her embarrassment. She looked so young like this, with her hair down and mussed with sleep, her cheeks warm, and her eyes wide. Looking at her, it was hard to see her as anything other than his Hawke. His lady who was cursed with magic, who had fought demons alone, who had hidden from templars alone.

She was brave and foolish, his young lady. The sting of her lie hadn’t eased, and it wasn’t the only one. He knew it, she alluded to more. He would make himself trusty worthy in her eyes. He would show her that he could…care for her still despite her affliction. She cared for him, she had stayed by him even when his hate poisoned him, blinded him from her plight, as he spoke of mages evil.

She wasn’t evil, she couldn’t be.

He came into the room on silent feet and placed a tray on her lap, the scent of food wafting up and making her stomach rumble audibly. “Orana sent food; she believes I am incapable of caring for you, myself, and the abomination.” Fenris said dryly as Hawke picked up a spoon.

“She worries, that’s all. Even though I _can_ cook, I’ve been banned from my own kitchen. I’ve learned it isn’t an insult to let her do what makes her happy, she gets upset when I start to become too independent.” Hawke said softly as she blew on a spoonful of oatmeal, plainer than she would have wanted but exactly what she needed. Taking the bite she watched the play of emotions on Fenris’ face. She smiled at him, spoon still stuck in her mouth and she watched the irritation that had begun to creep up in his expression fade.

Putting the spoon back in the bowl she tilted her head up at him. “I care about her, she cares about me, and when I’m finally allowed to leave your bed I’m going to let her fuss over me to her heart’s content. Certain people need to do certain things to feel comforted, Mother and Orana are made from the same cloth. They will need to fuss, mother, and make a general nuisance of themselves until they are satisfied I am well and whole again.”

She began to eat again and Fenris watched her, mulling over her words without comment. Anders continued to sleep in the chair, and Hawke had to wonder if there was a way to move him to someplace more comfortable to where he could get more rest. Then thinking of Anders resting lead to thoughts of _Justice_ , making her cheeks heat up again.

“I never knew how much you hid until I saw you unmasked.” Fenris sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her intently. “I was a slave, I thought I was aware of how one could mask their feelings to keep safe and hidden but I never thought I see a free woman do it. You are no one’s slave Lady Hawke, but I cannot regret knowing now that I can see what Kirkwall is not allowed to. That your expressions can no longer be hidden from me. I will not allow, not when it is in…” He glanced at Anders for a moment before looking back to her. “Safe company.”

“Fenris…” She began and a sharp glare had her mouth snapping shut.

“No, you will not dissuade me. You will not hide from _**me**_ Lady Hawke. I will not allow it.” She looked down, avoiding his gaze until he lifted her chin making her meet his gaze. It was all he allowed himself in this moment, the gentle touch to her soft skin, cradling her chin in his fingers. “I will tear down your walls as you have done with me. When it is done, there will be no secrets left.”

Her gaze softened for a moment, before turning belligerent. It made him smile, assured now that he’d been handed a gift by Aveline that he could do this. He would be able to court her, make her his. Fenris would allow the abomination to hold out hope a little longer before Fenris finally took and claimed Lady Hawke as his own. Let Anders have Heretic, he could live with the wild apostate, while Fenris got the real prize the real jewel.

“Are you going to kiss her? Thekkie’s going to owe me five sovereigns.” Hawke’s cheeks turned red as she looked at the doorway seeing two of her four Head professors in the doorway. Desiderium stood smirking at her like the insufferable bastard he was while standing beside him smiling cheerfully was his younger sister Alyss. The tiny elf woman looked as if a strong breeze might do her in, or a severe glare. Both which were entirely and utterly untrue since Alyss had survived years of living with Desiderium, which naturally awarded the girl a medal. She lacked the cat stripe tattoos her brother had, she lacked any distinguishing markings whatsoever besides the telltale elf ears, and the same coloration her brother had.

“Professor Desiderium, what are you doing here?” She could feel Fenris bristling beside her and Anders jolted awake, his eyes and skin flaring blue before he stared at one of the oddest pair of elves he’d ever seen.

“Your Mother, Headmistress. She insisted that Alyss and I come over and make sure you were alive and well. Our other orders were to slaughter them if they weren’t taking care of you properly. Please tell me they aren’t, I need some exercise.” Chuckling at the outraged look Fenris shot him. Two swords were strapped to his back, not knives, not daggers, but honest to Maker swords. The tiny elf woman wore no visible weapons and she punched her brother.

“Desi, be nice! We’re guests. Where have your manners gone?” She scolded and Desiderium rolled his eyes, looking put upon. “Oh I don’t know, they were left somewhere in the Imperium after I gutted Master’s favorite whore.” His smile was lethal and mildly unhinged and Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Professors Desiderium and Alyss I am being cared for. Professor Desiderium, please reign in your jealousy Anders is of no threat to you and your machinations towards certain parties who shall remain nameless for the sake of my sanity. Also for my sanity leave before I will be forced to kill you where you stand. Do not kill, maim, or permanently injure the students. Professor Alyss, make sure this happens.”

Alyss laughed and nodded. “Sorry Headmistress, for interrupting, we’ll let you rest now. Your Mother would have come herself but a minor accident has been keeping her occupied with the little ones. You should be safe for a few days, save Orana coming to visit and bring you food.” She flounced over to the bed, pressing a kiss to Hawke’s cheek before bouncing away practically radiating love and sunshine. “Get better soon! Come on Desi.” She grabbed her brother’s arm, forcibly removing him from the glaring contest he’d started with Anders.

There was an awkward silence after they left, Hawke taking in deep calming breaths trying to grasp at the calm she often had to use when dealing with her unusual band of merry misfits.

“Maker’s breath Hawke, you are employing lunatics.” Anders was the first one to break the silence and Hawke had to silently agree none of her Professors were particularly sane. Except Karl, and he was far too sane to actually be sane and she was waiting for the day the sly old fox slipped up and showed her his personal brand of crazy.

“I cannot argue there.” Fenris agreed, wondering how in all the time he’d known her that he’d never met the pair of odd elves. They, the male, had mentioned they were from the Imperium and Desiderium’s talk of gutting his master’s favorite whore hit close to home.

“They’re special. Very very talented and I would say they get better but they don’t. They can get worse.” She admitted and tried not to laugh when Fenris and Anders looked at her like she was utterly insane.

“What? You mean that was good behavior?”

“Are you bleeding, maimed, dead, or otherwise mentally scarred?”

“No.”

Hawke smiled at Anders, amusement lighting her eyes. “Then Desiderium and Alyss were on their best behavior.”

Fenris regarded her for a moment, shifting and settling at the foot of the bed. “Tell me their story. I would like to hear it.” Hawke settled back into the pillows, noticing that she was once again the focus of both men’s attentions. She thought, trying to figure out how to word the story without telling Fenris or Anders that they were mages. One apostate was tricky enough to explain away, three was looking fishy, and well an entire school of them would be damning.

“I met Desiderium and Alyss in my first year at Kirkwall. We worked for the Red Irons together, and Carver will never admit it but he had a slight infatuation with Alyss. We became friends of sorts, and as we earned each other’s trust we began to share our pasts. Desiderium is like you Fenris, he was his Master’s favorite bodyguard and was a part of a special group of warriors. I can’t pronounce the name, but he said it was one of the highest honors bestowed upon a slave to be placed there. He wouldn’t have run, he would have stayed, if his Master’s favorite whore hadn’t killed Desiderium’s lover out of spite when Desiderium refused to bed her. He killed her, grabbed his sister, and ran. They killed all the slavers that went after them, but I suppose unlike you they weren’t important enough to keep hunting. He volunteered to teach the students fighting and warfare, grooming those inclined into skilled warriors. She teaches the students how to fight from afar.”

“Justice doesn’t like him.” Anders muttered as close to a petulant tone as he could without actually sounding petulant. Hawke laughed and blushed, coughing into her hand to try and disguise it. “He needn’t worry; Desiderium only…is attracted to men. I trust him with my life, he may be mad but he’s loyal to a fault. I’d be more worried about your or Fenris’ virtue than mine.”

“Why do you never bring him or any of the other Professors to the Hanged Man? They seem only a little bit crazier than the crowd we already have.” Anders asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees. She snorted slightly, rolling her eyes, unaware this was the most emotive that either man had ever seen her without the mask.

“I have a total of four Head Professors with a handful of other to take up less focused classes. My school is a small community in and of itself, and out of all the professors only three would likely go to the Hanged Man. I know my professors and I know all of you, and when I say that it would be as fun as fighting through a hospital then believe me at how unpleasant it would be.”

“Lady Hawke what is fun to fight through?” Fenris raised his eyebrow at her, and she smirked. “Gardens, electronic shops, and antique stores; but only if they’re classy.” She quipped and both men had to chuckle a little, even as they sighed and rolled their eyes.

“No, honestly though. Imagine Isabela squared, a Merrill who could make sexual innuendos, and a very very angry Dalish.” They nodded, but even her description made them realize something. Neither man, in all the times they had visited her, had met anyone save Orana, Bodhan, Leandra, Hawke or some other servants. Varric and Aveline had been there once or twice before, but they didn’t count since neither lived there. Hawke’s school was a mystery, the students, the professors, everyone connected to it shrouded in mystery. It made them both uneasy, starting to realize the shallow depths in which they actually knew Lady Hawke.

They could try to force their way in, but that would backfire, both mused separately. Hawke would turn them out, or keep hiding what she was hiding with all the skill she had. No, they had to be subtle, and as both men glanced at each other, making eye contact, they knew they had a partnership. Unholy and frustrating it was made silently through eye contact and a slight nod. They’d never admit it, never let anyone know about it, but it would be there all the same.

“I can see why you would be hesitant to introduce us.” Fenris admitted finally. The first two sounded unpleasant and annoying to deal with while the last one would likely only be tolerable in small doses. Hawke had enough frustration to deal with without adding to it, or perhaps it was simply to also help keep her secrets. Fenris could not say, and it irked him that he could not.

“Well isn’t this cozy?” Isabela stood in the doorway and Fenris was beginning to wonder if he couldn’t just bar the door. The pirate wench was perhaps one of his favorite companions, but she touched Hawke, flirted with Hawke in ways that he could not allow himself to. It brought about a deep seated jealousy, one he did his best to mask and hide as…more brooding so that there would not be issues.

Both he and Anders watched as the cool Headmistress mask fell into place in the blinking of an eye. Now Isabela might not be the most trustworthy person around shiny objects, she may be a ne’er-do-well, but Hawke had inspired something in her. It wasn’t something easily named, easily identifiable, but Hawke was more than an easy target to the pirate queen. Seeing how easily the mask came back, in the presence of friendly mildly trustworthy company made Fenris’ already rising temper boil over.

He was on Hawke before either Isabela or Anders knew what was going on, pinning the noblewoman, his Lady, his apostate into the bed and staring into her eyes. He didn’t touch her, but he made his presence known, made her realize that she was not the one in charge, not the one calling the shots right now. “What you son-“ He could hear a dagger unsheathing, but he didn’t care, crowding into Hawke’s personal space and staring into those infuriatingly cool eyes.

“No.” His voice was firm, an order if there was ever one to be heard. “I told you Lady Hawke, you will not, cannot hide when we are in safe company. I will not allow it.”

“Who are you to order me?” Her voice was cool, distant, even the lingering affection that always colored her tones when speaking with him were gone. She was ice, she was a doll, and it set his teeth on edge to see the difference now. He had always known there was more underneath, that she wasn’t just what she appeared, but he was starting to learn how little he had seen before.

“I am your-“ He paused searching for the correct word in common, when he could find no translation, no idea of what to attribute to his right to order her he growled. “I am your guardian Lady Hawke. You hurt yourself needlessly when you do this, you hide away in fear when you should not. I will protect you, I will tell you when you are in danger, and there is no danger here.”

Her eyes narrowed at his, her lips pressed together and the cool mask she had been wearing, the perfect manners of a lady crumbled and dissolved. He smirked down at her before getting off, once again taking his position at the foot of the bed.

“This says I have missed something delicious.” Isabela said with a pout and a put upon expression. She sauntered further into the room, her keen eyes taking in all three expression. She took up a position beside Hawke, her dagger back in place. Fenris had no idea how close he had come to having a dagger sunk into his back when she’d first seen him pounce on Hawke. The only thing that had saved him was the absolute trust Hawke seemed to have, not trying to push him off her, in the elf…and the fact that Anders had silently let his hand become wreathed in flame, warning her that an ill made move would result in something unpleasant.

She had missed something delicious because what had once been Hawke’s little isolated world seemed to have grown to encompass the two men in her presence. Isabela had no illusions regarding the woman on the bed, they would never be. It hurt in some distant way, but not enough to chase Isabela away. Besides it was so wonderful to see the noblewoman color so prettily at a seductive touch, or Anders or Fenris twitching in irritation and jealousy that _Isabela_ could touch and pet Hawke all to her black little heart’s content while they had to remain respectably distanced.

Isabela would never lie about how much fun it was to see those two broody bastards grit their teeth and pretend that she was not all over their love interests. In fact it was her duty and right as a friend to nudge them closer to their one true loves, Anders for the Heretic, and Fenris for Lady Hawke. There was nothing wrong with her friendly way of nudging, hands sliding over slim waists, grasping an ass that had made the Maker weep when he made it, or the soft full breasts that likely had the Maker trying to hide his shameboner from Andraste. Isabela was a helper, and if she helped herself to a few gropes in the name of true love, then so be it. Some people had to sacrifice _everything_ for the greater good, no?

“Nothing big really.” Isabela could see Hawke struggling to not hide behind the mask. She smiled, easy and seductive as she reached over and pulled Hawke closer. Isabela used her superior strength to maneuver Hawke so her head now rested on Isabela’s buxom chest, and that she had to hold onto Isabela’s waist to keep comfortable. Isabela didn’t miss the scathing looks she was receiving from Fenris and Anders. It only egged her on, one hand coming up to run through Hawke’s lovely black hair, feeling the noblewoman relax and a little and press closer to Isabela.

Those men really needed to realize Hawke was as starved for affection as a woman could get without being a Rose Worker or wearing a sign around her neck.

“Mmmm then tell Momma Isabela all about this ‘nothing big’ sweet thing.” She pitched her voice lower, playfully seductive tone that had…oh now that was new, Isabela thought to herself with wicked amusement as she saw a flash of blue in Anders’ eyes. Something did happen, something that made Justice all afirey tingle now that Isabela was ‘seducing’ the lovely ‘maiden fair’.

Hawke was silent for a moment, obviously struggling with what she had to say. Painful secrets often were that way; there were never words that could put to voice the pain one had. It was always inadequate when you did, and most of the time people could not conceptualize the agony one’d been in. They might see the scars if they were lucky, but Isabela had a hard time thinking that Fenders, as she sometimes mentally regarded the two men, could look past their own pile of emotional baggage to see anyone else’s.

“I’m an apostate.” She could feel Hawke’s warm breath on her skin the resignation in her tone, she could feel the tightened muscles and Isabela wanted to stab Fenders in their _balls_. Hawke had been the best, most covert apostate she’d ever met. Isabela had wondered, not about the magic bit, but what secret Hawke had. Now to find out, not because Hawke was deciding that Isabela was the most trustworthy person on the face of the planet but because Hawke was in her own way being pressured by Fenders to be open and show her dark little secret to all her friends.

Both men looked utterly surprised by the sheer nastiness of the look the Pirate Queen sent their way.

“You’re a very good apostate, really, I knew you had a secret or two but I didn’t expect that.” Isabela said soothingly. “Ooo! Can you do that electricity thing? All sparkle fingers and pleasure and mmmm…” She moaned for good effect, keeping her hold tight on Hawke and not pulling away. Hawke was safe, and Isabela needed to have a _word_ with Fenders later.

Still something niggled in the back of her mind as she kept petting Hawke’s hair. Something…

 _Andraste’s flaming **tits**_!

“Ow! Isabela.” Hawke whined when Isabela accidentally yanked on Hawke’s hair, the pieces falling into place so suddenly with such clarity that Isabela almost felt like a fool. The surprise eased from her face, and she forced her body to relax as she began petting Hawke again. They didn’t know, of course they didn’t they were men in love. This was so wonderful, so _awkward_.

No wonder Hawke was single.

No wonder Hawke was so private. If Isabela had a secret like that then she would be too. Poor sweetie, Isabela hadn’t been able to leave her alone before but now Hawke was going to have to kill her to get rid of her. This woman in her arms was amazing, was so feisty, so clever, and so _young_ to be trying to change the world. So damaged and broken too, no wonder Varric was so overprotective of her, no wonder Aveline let her keep running around. Now she understood how Hawke could live through going through the Deep Roads.

Ooooh Fenders were going to flip their collective shit. She also needed to start a betting pool with Varric as to who would figure out what Heretic really looked like underneath the mask first.

“Do I want to know what you’re smirking about?” Fenris asked cautiously, surprised Isabela had taken such news in a stride. Isabela’s smirk only grew, something having changed in her demeanor, her posture more protective now of the woman half draped over Isabela.

“I just got a new idea for a story ‘Double teamed in Denerim’.” A disgusted sound made itself known from Fenris while Anders groaned, putting his head into his hands. A surprise came when Hawke snorted out a giggle.

“I’ll read it if you make me the protagonist.” She whispered conspiratorially and Isabela guffawed. “Sweet, I’ll make you the protagonist and even let you pick the friends you want to fuck.” The girls ignored the men, their mildly amused but still scandalized looks making this little unspoken revenge all the sweeter. Hawke thought for a moment and smirked.

“Sebastian and…” She paused for a moment letting the first name burrow into the skulls and jealous male egos. “Ser Cullen? Think you could work that into a story Isabela?” Isabela grinned. “Of course I can sweet. Just give me a bit and you’ll have all the friend fiction you want.”

“Can we have sex in the Chantry? Ooo can it be the first sex scene? I want Cullen and Sebastian to kiss at least once.”

“Maker’s breath woman are you _mad_?” Anders couldn’t keep silent any longer, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stood up. “Ser Cullen? Sebastian? _Together_? I will never be clean again.” He shook his head slightly. “Fenris let’s go get some food or cards or something and get away from this while some parts of our souls are still untainted.”

“Oh that’s good Anders, I didn’t think of that. Isabela at some point, before sex at least once in the story someone must tell me ‘You must submit yourself to the taint’ before we have sex.” Isabela couldn’t breathe as she began to laugh almost hysterically, watching as even Fenris got an uneasy look in his eyes at the sheer thought of what the two women could plot together. He had only wanted her not to hide, not this…He wasn’t going to admit he found it almost as amusing as it was disturbing to see Lady Hawke relax like this.

He unfurled himself from the foot of the bed, gracefully getting up and moving to where Anders was. It was a mildly sane idea for them to go get food, Isabela would not allow Hawke to leave the bed or premises. The pirate had been just as worried as the rest of them that Hawke was going to die, and she wasn’t even aware of the second near death experience Hawke had.

Perhaps Anders and Fenris could make a suitable meal for Hawke…or they could go to the Academy and ask Orana if she could spare something so they could feed Hawke. Fenris and Anders could go back to fighting once the world stopped becoming unraveled so easily, when Hawke went back to the Academy, and life reestablished itself into it’s weird twisted normality.

When Fenris and Anders left the room both women waited exactly five minutes before the cheerfulness drained away from them and something oddly serious permeated the room. Isabela placed a kiss on the top of Hawke’s head, gentle fingers caressing her back.

“You know those two are being sore losers on the fact that it likely took you blowing something up to figure out you were a mage. I suppose our little group has spoiled them with freedom and protection, seeing as how they wanted you to tell me your deepest darkest secrets and not hide behind a mask you’ve kept in place for years.” Isabela said gently. “I can understand we’ve all been in a bit of a tizzy, what with you nearly dying, not getting healed, all the mess and blood and worrying. You’re fine now, we can worry a little less, and we can work on keeping the rest of your secrets secret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sweet, you’re a black haired green eyed apostate with the same sweetly firm but supple breasts as the city’s favorite vigilante. You almost had me fooled, but breasts never lie, especially not a rack like yours.” Hawke choked on a laugh, trying to smother it and trying not to utterly panic because Isabela had figured it out and it was now only a matter of time before everyone else did as well. Isabela rubbed her back gently. “I’ll keep it secret, pet. With Varric, Aveline, and myself watching your back you’ll keep your other thing firmly under wraps. You do know this means I’ve got to find out everything, unlike those two lunkheads I’m not going to utterly flip my shit.”

“Later, please?”

“Of course, not here where the walls have ears and you might cry and then I’ll end up burned and heartless simultaneously. It is going to be _so_ much fun when I grope you now.”

“Justice knows.” Hawke said quietly and Isabela had to laugh. “The voice in Anders’ head knows, but Anders himself doesn’t? Oh that is priceless sweet.” Hawke’s cheeks heated up and she hid her face in Isabela’s bosom. “HekissedmeintheFade.” This was vital information, vital female information that she couldn’t share with anyone else. It had always been hard not to simply relax with Isabela and laugh, to keep up a cool even expression in the wake of her dirty jokes and vitality. Something was better here as well, Isabela wasn’t calling her ‘Lady Amell’ anymore.

It was good to have a female friend who had…womanly wiles and wasn’t a woman shaped battering ram. Varric was just awkward to try and discuss the finer points of why men were attractive. He was also her platonic soulmate who if life had been different, if she or he had been a smidge more or less something then Fenris and/or Anders would not have stood a chance because Varric would have won her over. He also already knew too much about her, and he wasn’t good with…womanly things, except gossip, but that really didn’t count.

“Whoah whoah whoah, _Justice_? _**Justice**_!? You mean you swapped spirit spit with Mr. No-drinky-must-kill-all-templars-glowbug stick in the mud? You started to get your groove on with a disembodied voice in Anders’ head?” Isabela couldn’t help the laughter, burying her face in Hawke’s hair she laughed. It was priceless, pure art, and years from now she was going to put it into one of her friend fictions, when Hawke was no longer in danger. Just because she could connect the dots, didn’t mean that anyone else was allowed to. They might try to lock her sweet up in the Gallows, and then she’d be made tranquil, all her friends would go mad… _er_ and then Kirkwall would be destroyed in a blazing flash of apocalyptic light.

“Yes, and he’s a good kisser too. How does he _do_ that? He’s all righteousness and fury and templar bits flying every which way every other time I’ve seen him and then he’s…he’s…he’s _good_.” Words failed her as she flailed to find an adequate description of how good Justice had been. How exotic, how exciting, and how utterly special she had felt.

“Well from _my_ experience Anders is a fantastic kisser. Perhaps he picked up a thing or two?”

“Is Justice even a man? I mean he wears Anders face in the Fade and has a big booming voice that’s a mild eargasim but…I mean do spirits need _things_?” Hawke moved and waved her hand in the general vicinity of her crotch. “If they don’t, then do they really have a gender? What if I was just kissing a very masculine lady spirit and now the poor thing is so confused because it’s in a male body and-“

“Hawke, Hawke.” Isabela shushed the nearly hysterical woman from launching further into rather amusing and flustered rant. Something made Isabela preen inside that Hawke was telling _her_ about this, seeming to ask Isabela for advice on…interesting sexual matters. “Magey things to the non mage, I can’t answer you there. But if he makes you feel special…well you can always try and coax him out for a roll in the hay.”

“But…I’d be defiling him somehow, wouldn’t I? Does someone really get to ah…have… _relations_ with spirits?” Hawke turned an interesting shade of red as she fidgeted and Isabela was suddenly struck by something. Hawke was…she was… _oh_ That explained a bit on her whole awkward intimacy issues thing. Probably they fed off eachother and… _oh_.

“Was Justice your first kiss?”

“WHAT!? I..uh..mean no Isabela I’ve been kissed before. By several people, in the back of barns, or in an alley way, and once on my doorstep but that one was terribly awkward. Even my fiancé never…made me…” She trailed off, looking at Isabela through her lashes. “It was arranged, and for a few moments I loved him, but it was never mutual. He resented me, resented that he was going to be tied to me.” She sighed turning away. “When my family ran from Lothering, that was the end of that.” She shrugged helplessly.

“At least your mother didn’t trade you for a goat. Bitch didn’t even haggle a price.” Hawke stiffened and she looked back at Isabela, the bitterness in her eyes had faded with passage of time, but the wound still ached before a rainy day.

“Love, it isn’t for me.” Isabela began softly, fingers weaving through and untangling Hawke’s hair. “Tried it once, after my beloved husband met the pointy end of a Crow dagger, but it didn’t work out. It’s easier this way, pet, for me. You though, even I can admit you need more than a tumble in bed, though it wouldn’t hurt.” Hawke smiled and butted her head gently underneath Isabela’s chin, like an affectionate kitten.

“I love you Isabela.” Isabela stilled, and Hawke pressed closer. “Not in the sexual way, but I do love you, platonically very much. You’re not a sister, I’ve checked out your ass too much to think of you that way, but you are dear to me. I’d go to the Void and back for you.”

“I know pet, we all know that you would turn Thedas on its ear to keep us safe. We’d do the same for you, especially those two smitten idiots following your shadow.” Isabela stroked Hawke’s head and they fell into silence again. It was only when Fenris and Anders returned that Isabela realized Hawke had drifted off again, using Isabela as her personal teddy bear. Isabela leveled a glare at both men, as they stomped into the room.

“We need to talk.”


	3. Dreams of Maybe and Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Heretic shows up again and we begin to see evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took two scenes from my favorite show B5, because they'd fit well in this setting.

“Seneschal Bran.”

The red haired man flinched in surprise at the warm feminine voice behind him. He knew that voice, the warm tones teasing tones, the foreign accent that butchered the King’s Common. A trickle of fear coursed through him, because the Heretic coming was never a good thing. It usually heralded a great deal of bloodshed and messy paperwork and hours upon hours of litigation. No, the Heretic’s arrival was never good, and now in light of recent…transactions it was even more foolhardy.

“Heretic.”

The woman slipped through the window like a shadow, crossing from behind him to sprawl insolently in the chair in front of him. She placed a pair of glasses on his desk, not unusual in the least, plying him with alcohol so his reactions were not as severe. Taking out a bottle of wine, red and a good vintage, she poured them both a glass. He took his first, the one closest to her, and sipped.

She raised her own glass in a toast, before taking a sip of her own.

“Seneschal Bran, I be seein’ dat the guards are goin’ every which way. Less patrols, more busts, ‘cause more intel be droppin’ in like unwanted houseguests. Intel dat normally take weeks, months, ta gader up just happenin’ by. So I start wonderin’ is da Guard Captain doin’ better work den usual…’n ya know what I look inta it ‘n she be puzzled as I ‘bout how dis stuff keep comin’ in.”

Bran looked calm, as he took another sip to steady his nerves, watching as the heretic pulled out several pieces of paper. Paper he now recognized. She sipped her drink easily.

“So I investigate, ‘cause it what I do. ‘n I find out somet’in’ very very inerestin’ monsieur. Wanna know what it is? Dat all dis lovely intel is comin’ from yer office. Now I say ‘well dat can’t be, Bran don’ do such t’ings.’ Yet, I got it here right before me.”

She looked at him over the rim of her glass, green eyes intelligent, keener than any eyes he had ever seen before. Her burgundy colored lips turned up into a smile. That smile was dangerous, but he held his ground, kept his face neutral. Heretic never outright assassinated people, her position was dangerous enough without adding that to her long laundry list of misdeeds.

“Only an idiot would fight a war on two fronts, only da heir t’ de t’rone o’ da Kingdom o’ Idiots would fight a war on twelve fronts. ‘n dat is what y’ are doin’ right now monsieur, fightin’ a war on twelve different fronts, wit’ all de intel yer givin’ secretly ta de Guard Captain dat she gotta act on _right now_.”

“Heretic you do a great deal for the city, I acknowledge that but you do not know the extent of the resources Kirkwall has to offer. They are greater than you think.”

“Ahhh oui y’ recent deal wit’ Monsieur Astaroth. I t’ought I told ya t’ stay away from him.”

Seneschal Bran did not move, did not flinch or cower as he opened his mouth to lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Heretic gave him a look, full of disapproval, disappointment, amusement, and resignation that she was going to have to do something the hard way. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tiny device. Setting it on the table she pressed a button. Immediately a figure appeared, tall with shining golden hair, and lovely golden eyes, honey colored skin and a smile that made you want to trust him. He was handsome, bright, and dripped with the vilest poison Heretic could ever imagine.

“I asked Seneschal Bran to secure the Docks and Lowtown for us.”

Heretic reached over and hit the button, stopping the recording. She looked at Bran, a faint smile on her lips.

“I have found somethin’ some old magic dat allow me ta record my memories. It old, ‘n den I found someone else who could transfer ‘em ta dis. I see a lot o’ t’ings, ‘n one never knows when an inconvenient trut’ might slip t’rough de cracks ‘n vanish. Monsieur Astaroth ‘n his _associates_ worry me.” Her face was serious, her eyes grave. “I have a feelin’ dat Monsieur Astaroth ‘n his associates are carvin’ a great dark hole in Kirkwall ‘n when dey go down, ‘n dey will, anyone nearby will go wit’ dem.”

Bran gave her an incredulous look, on filled with superiority and arrogance that only lifelong politicians could muster. She hated him, because he wasn’t truly evil, just greedy. Felled by the same greed that caused so much strife in this city. He was a necessary pain, but a pain that needed to be controlled.

“You do not appreciate their strength.”

“I appreciate deir strength, I appreciate de fact dey make me worried, dat dey drip o’ tainted dark t’ings I haven’t felt in a long long time. Dey will come fer Kirkwall ‘n eat it inside out. By drawin’ de Guard inta every which way, y’ weakin’ de defenses o’ Kirkwall as a whole should dey or de Qunari turn deir eye to us.”

She sipped her wine, watching him.

“Y’ will take steps ta keep dat from happenin’.” She said coolly, ordering him as she had never ordered him before. Her voice filled with order and command, of a certain sense of entitlement. If she had no mask, if she was no vigilante he could see her rising to power, stealing the Viscount’s seat from him.

“And why should I walk away from the greatest power I have ever encountered? Power that could one day make me Viscount. From that seat of power I could do so much more to help you.”

She sighed, looking at the papers for a moment. “’cause I asked y’ ta, ‘cause yer loyalty ta Kirkwall should override y’ sense o’ ambition,” She looked up, holding his gaze. “”n ‘cause I poisoned y’ drink.” Heretic smirked, coldly nodding mock sympathetically. “Oui, ‘n ya know it is a _very_ interesting poison. It comes in deux parts, both harmless on deir own but when combined dey are _quite_ lethal. Da first, which I put in yer drink, settles inta da blood stream ‘n linin’ o’ da intestines. It can stay dere fer years, silent, dormant, _waitin’_. When de oder half o’ da poison gets inta da body, de two meet, ‘n have a little party in yer cardiovascular system. ‘n suddenly y. are. quite. _**dead**_.”

She settled further back into her chair, staring at him. Watching his face crumple into shock and outright fear. He never, she… The Heretic was no shining paragon of goodness, she was dark, lethal, and perhaps…exactly the sort of hero Kirkwall needed.

“Why? Why did you do this?” His voice was hoarse, a frightened whisper as he began to realize that the Heretic only protected those who needed it. Those who fought for Kirkwall, not for power, not for fame or glory. He…the cold lies he told himself as night as he crawled into bed would give him no comfort now.

“T’ guarantee yer cooperation, cher..” And she smiled, grimly now. “’n ‘cause I knew dat one day y’ would do de same ta me. It seems ya were bent on returnin’ ta de old ways, ‘n since I can say ‘m somewhat a sentimentalist. I just got here first.” She stood now, her coat wrapping around her body like a cloak. She began to move, around the table and towards the window.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Cut yer ties wit’ monsieur Astaroth, ‘n stop tyin’ up de guard. A foul wind is comin’ cher, we gonna need da backup when de shadows strike.” Her voice was quiet, and she stepped onto the ledge, knowing he wouldn’t turn to watch her jump out. He did not know how much it cost her to do this, how her soul would never feel clean again. Yet it had to be done, and she would ask no one to do this. If she could not bear to do it, then she should never ask anyone else to shoulder the guilt.

Astaroth scared her like nothing else did. He was, as Varric sagely put it, smoother than an elven baby’s bottom. Meredith was insane, but she was known, the Arishok was on the verge of trying to take the city, but he was known (to an extent a Qunari could be understood without accepting the Qun), there were other groups, all dangerous, all threatening but Heretic knew them as well as anyone could know them.

Astaroth was a mystery dripping with evil, coated in taint, wrapped in death, with a little sparkling bow on top to distract people from the aforementioned problems. He was pretty, handsome in a way that made the mindless feel warm and tingly. She could see his physical appeal, he was like a living work of art…but he was too perfect for her tastes. He was well shaven, not scruffy, his hair neatly cut, not longish and always in need of a good trim, he was well built, not lean from a life of hardship, his features even and full, not long and a little gaunt from not being properly fed. He was also human, which certainly nixed him from comparing him to her other favorite eye candy.

He was a desire demon. Or very much acted like one, in her honest opinion. He tried to wheedle his way into everywhere, his sole signature question always was ‘what do you want?’. The favors always turned out badly, twisting into something monstrous and horrible by the end… She could not kill him either, because she had no proof that he was the true threat. Was it him, or was he the face behind something greater? It made her uneasy, his mysterious ways. Especially now, especially since reports were coming in that he was frequenting the Gallows.

Thank the Maker above that Ser Cullen hated him too.

She could remember tailing Cullen one evening, worried about him as he went in search of a nest of bloodmages. His ‘chance’ encounter with Astaroth two blocks from the entrance to the nest.

 _’Ah Ser Cullen, may I have a word? It will only take a minute.’_

 _Ser Cullen stopped, looking at the man he’d seen far too often in the Gallows for his liking. He was no mage, but he was wrong, sinister in a manner that reminded him vaguely of the Tower during Uldred’s attack._

 _‘I am very busy, Serrah Astaroth.’_

 _‘Then I will be very brief. In all my dealings with the Knight Commander, you have never seemed to be fond of me. We are working towards the same goal, you and I. The containment of the mage threat.’_

 _Cullen schooled his features into the stony Templar mask, the one that made you wonder if you were a step away from being an abomination and about to be killed. Astaroth only smiled, easy and warm, like poisoned honey._

 _‘We are not working towards the same goals, Serrah.’_

 _‘Ah then, what _do_ you want Ser Cullen?’_

Cullen paused, regarding Astaroth will a keen eye. He thought for a moment then nodded.

‘I want to live just long enough to be there when they cut off your head and put it on a pike as a warning for the next ten generations that some favors come at too high a price. I would look up into your lifeless eyes and wave like this.’ There he paused lifting his hand up to wiggle his gauntleted fingers at Astaroth. ‘Could you and your associates arrange that for me Serrah? I would be most grateful.’

Astaroth looked mildly surprised but mostly unruffled by the Knight Captain’s request.

‘Tell Meredith I’ll have the information ready for her soon. You may go Knight Captain Cullen.’

A nod was his reponse and Cullen started back on his way but he paused.

‘Serrah Astaroth?’ Cullen called back, the other man stopping from his own walking to turn back to look at the Knight Captain. The ginger haired man smiled, wiggling his fingers at Astaroth before walking away once more.

Heretic had watched Cullen’s back that night, helping him out with the bloodmages when they proved to be too strong a force for the Knight Captain alone. She had even given him healing potions, and a few gentle licks of healing magic to keep him in the fight.

‘De enemy o’ my enemy is ma friend, cher. Should ya ever need me ta come to yer aid, ask fer Varric at de Hanged Man. My favors come free o’ charge…unless dey sexual den I want _some_ reciprocation.’

He had shot her a disgusted look, but two weeks later he came ‘hunting’ for her and she got her first assignment from Cullen. The man had been conflicted, he always would be when dealing with her, but she was without a doubt his ally. He was slowly and surely becoming hers. It never failed to mention that he was her friend as Lady Amell, they often sat together during mass and often discussed the Grand Cleric’s sermons. He was a sweet man at heart, broken from horrors he should never have lived through.

She wished he would one day forgive her when he finally got to peel off the mask from her lifeless corpse and find out who it was who had been his silent secret partner.

She hoped Anders didn’t stab her when he found out that she had made an alliance with Ser Cullen.

She could play it off as Ser Cullen being too much like a wet abandoned abused cat, who needed to be dried off, warmed up, cuddled and petted until all his hurts went away. Oh she was fooling herself with that one, Anders would never buy it, but the sentiment that Cullen brought up in her was always the same. Not to emasculate the poor man, but he just needed someone to give him a hug, tell him the world was going to be alright, and to stab any nasty blood mages that went too close to him. Except Merrill, but Merrill wasn’t nasty as much as she was simply _Merrill_. One needed to distinguish such things.

“You’re late.” Fenris growled at her when she made it to the rendezvous spot, his body tense and agitated. She smirked at him, watching his eyes narrow at her in a glare while Anders seemed to relax and smile at her. Her eyes travelled to their third party member, smirking as she saw the shiny armor that belonged only to one person.

“Yer early, now we both know we’ll disappoint eachoder in bed, non?” She shot back with a grin, watching as Sebastian looked somewhere between amused and wishing that he didn’t have to be there. “C’mon we got slavers ta kill, slaves ta rescue, ‘n I gotta talk wit’ someone.”

“Where were you? You’re almost never late when you’ve summoned us.” Sebastian asked, and she wondered if he was worried about her or if he was making a list of sins to put to her name to give to the Maker. It was always hard to tell with that one.

“In a meetin’ doin’ somet’in’ all o’ ya would disapprove o’.” She glanced as all three men frowned at her. “Don’ worry, he ain’t dead…yet, so long as he do what Heretic asks, Heretic won’ be fulfillin’ her promise.” Sebastian looked almost scandalized while Fenris began to mutter under his breath about the evil of mages, Anders just watched her a conflicted look on his face telling her that Justice had an opinion as well.

“What did you promise?” Sebastian couldn’t help but ask and his Starkhaven brogue made the fairly innocent question seem all sorts of dirty. Well at least that was how she was trying to think of it for a moment while she formulated an answer.

“I promised him dat he’d end up dead if he kept dealin’ wit’ monsieur Astaroth. He might not be a demon, but de man as close as one can get wit’out doin’ all sorts o’ strange hoodoo, ‘n even den I wouldn’ put it past him. He’s as dark as de Deep Roads, so I hear.”

Anders looked up at her sharply. “The Deep Roads? Who told you he was like the Deep Roads?” Heretic smiled, placating and seductive as she sauntered over to Anders, touching his stubble roughened cheek soothingly. He focused on her, pupils expanding just slightly.

“A Warden, y’ ain’t de only one in de city Anders. She met de man once, told me he was worse den…den de Chitlins? Oui dat what she call some creepy new darkpawn-y chitlin wormy crawliy t’ings. He’s all sorts o’ unnatural ‘n once wishes for somet’in’ a reason just ta stab him.”

Anders looked pale, shocked by the knowledge and the niggling information that the Heretic was right. There was another Warden in the city…one he was certain he knew the location of. He nodded at her, resigning himself to go calling on Lady Hawke soon, to have her show him the warden she was hiding from him.

“Was she from Amarathine?” He couldn’t help but ask and the Heretic tilted her head to the side. “I dunno cher, c’mon ‘m getting’ glared at by Broodypants ‘cause we ain’t knee deep in slavers. What is his problem? ‘n yers? Bot’ ya disappear on me fer a few weeks, Varric say dat yer unavailable ‘cause yer takin’ care o’ someone.”

“Drop it Heretic, you’ll get no answers from us.” Fenris interjected, looking lethal. Something warm fluttered in Heretic’s heart imagining that his current fierceness was due to her poking around her alter ego. The irony was not lost on her, but it still warmed her knowing that he meant what he said about protecting her.

She flashed them all a coy smirk, tossing her hair and laughing. “I always get de answers I seek, wheder it be from yer lips or oders.” Her eyes were a dangerous shade of green, one that reminded Fenris of the wild jungles on Seheron, deep with shadows and secrets that could kill the most unwary. They were filled with life, filled with vitality and a dangerous warm heated edge that could undo lesser men.

Fenris liked to lie and tell himself he was not one of those fools, not like Anders who could fall so easily for a woman whose face was only hinted at. Whose power and knowledge were more dangerous combined than any magister he had ever seen. If she turned on him, he would not be able to live, no one could survive her wrath. Her loyalty to him was disturbing and comforting, and he knew that by her side Danarius could never reach him again. She would protect him within the shadowed folds of her jacket, a dark goddess of death and justice. He was just her follower, and he would never admit to his own worship of the woman whose presence he hated and craved. She was an addiction he could not shake, or would not. He was no longer sure anymore.

“Anders make sure we don’ die, Choir Boy shout if ya see a trap ‘n give us ranged support, Broodypants y’ ‘n I gonna be de hip deep in slaver guts.” It was their usual set up, one that was comfortable and familiar. A fighting style that worked well in just about every situation. Like a well oiled machine they fell into the shadows, Heretic leading the way as they made their way into the slaver’s hideout.

Not one of the men with her would lie and say they weren’t impressed as she walked along the high beams in the ceiling, like a living shadow she navigated the treacherous pathway with not even a whisper of sound. Two taps and Fenris was beside her, both readying themselves to jump down into the slaver’s midst. There was a glance shared between them, a silent nod of understanding before like avenging spirits they fell upon the slavers with a battle cry.

Tevinters were like Templars, always well equipped to deal with mages. They were never well equipped to deal with _her_. They always realized this when they swarmed her, bearing down on her, only to have her scatter playing cards into the air, a muttered words from her before they exploded. Those unlucky enough not to be killed by the small magical paper bombs soon met the blunt ends of her staff, or the spiked heel of her boots, perhaps even feel the tangy taste of ozone right before lightening coursed through them. The elf was rarely better to fight, he was death as well, savage and snarling, half in a berserker rage as he merciless cut down all in his path. Arrows rained down and killed the few who tried to run, never giving them a chance for ‘redemption’ for those who sullied their hands in the acts of slavery were not fit to walk the Maker’s earth.

The Heretic and her companions also never died, never fell into unconsciousness because Anders was there, fixing wounds when they got too bad, restoring them into fighting order and rejuvenating their flagging stamina. When it was over, when the slavers lay dead, the scent of burning bodies, blood, and bodily fluids almost overpowering the dilapidated warehouse Heretic began the task of raiding the slavers bodies.

It was a messy job, it was dirty, but she did it with a grim set to her mouth. A life as an apostate and refugee taught her nothing was too disgusting so long as it gave her coin. The rich would call her mercenary, for they had never had to live in poverty. They had never had to forgo a meal so others in the household could eat.

It was a holdover of times long past, but it still served her well this magpie instinct. Besides it also helped to feed and clothe her friends, the ones without jobs, the ones who had to rely on the charity of others to survive. Heretic knew they’d never take money from her alter ego, but they would gladly take the blood stained coins she pilfered from a dead man’s pockets.

“Heretic? We got an emergency.” Varric’s worried voice filtered into her ear, as she started to take off a dead man’s torn trousers.

“What’s de problem? Corff put rats in de stew again?” Came her flippant reply, watching as her companions paused in their task of freeing the poor elves unlucky enough to be caught by the slavers.

“I can answer that question Headmistress.” Another voice filtered in through the link and Heretic’s heart froze in her chest. Desiderium’s voice was tight with anger, with concern and worry, and she was eternally grateful that the comm device was only loud enough for her to hear.

“Gimme a sit rep now Cat.” When Desiderium went searching for her nothing was going to end well. Cold dread started to settle into her bones, and all three companions were looking tense from her body language.

“Three students, out of bed, out of the school. Your mother’s gone after them, heading through the catacombs to Darktown, Barkspawn went with her to find them. Alrik’s out hunting tonight, if our luck holds like it does then they’re going to be found. We need to get down there quick, especially since it’s our troublesome trio.”

“Merde. I am gonna tan der Maker damned hides.” Heretic spat. “I’m on my way down Cat, I’ll rendezvous wit’ ya in de tunnels, Varric go wit’ him ‘n take Isabela too. De Ghost still at de school?”

“Yes, along with Rabbit, Keeper, and the other professors. No one will be table to take the school while we’re out.”

“Good.” She growled out, already turning from the bodies she had been raiding, dropping her loot on the ground. “Boys, take o’ t’ings here. I got some trouble I gotta deal wit’, take what ya want.” She didn’t wait for a reply before she was running out of the warehouse. Damn her students for being brave and foolhardy and Maker damned teenagers.

They were smart, talented, and all held enough crazy to make them formidable. Leon O’Dell was a mini Anders in a way, he was smart, funny, sarcastic, talented, and had a knack for getting into trouble that was nearly unparalleled. A former urchin of Starkhaven, he spoke with the rumbling brogue often found in the natives of the city. Dulcinea Rosewell was a little ball of cleverness and barely controlled rage, she was catty, manipulative, and sometimes Heretic entertained the thought that Dulcinea was a lost daughter of Flemeth, but she knew it wasn’t true. Dulcinea was part Antivan part Fereldan and wholly a Kirkwaller from Lowtown. The girl had more balls and rage then common sense, and was held on the dubious leash controlled by Leon or the last of the troublesome trio, Romy McKracken. Romy was quiet, clever, and often tried to remain unseen, as manipulative as Dulci but more controlled, more tempered, she was more dangerous than her louder counterparts. They were young, they were foolish and brave, and held bonds as close as blood ties. Where one went, the other two were bound to follow, and somehow in the course of the day something would explode, get broken, or a new rule added to the Academy’s unofficial rulebook posted near the dorms that were often updated by students or Professors.

She was going to need a stiff drink when she got back.

Make that two as she went through one of the many sewer entrances into Darktown, because whenever Alrik was involved something turned into a disaster that usually had her shoving her entrails back inside her body and hoping Anders would de Justify and get to healing her.

She didn’t notice her shadows as she ran through the sewers, too intent, too focused on getting her students out of danger, her mother, and the poor sods who were going to help her get the wayward teens back. Hopefully without having to end up in a blood bath in the sewers.

“Heretic!” She skidded to a stop in front of Des, grateful he had at least taken some pains to hide his appearance. The shadowed cowl obscuring his distinctive features made everything so much easier to deal with, his body covered from head to toe in black, a robe cloaky thing swallowing his slim elven form. Varric and Isabela stood with him, both with fake smiles plastered on their faces.

“Got an idea where ta go?”

Isabela tilted her head in the direction of some of the old lyrium smuggling tunnels. “Best bet is there, because it would be the worst place for three apostates to go so naturally they went there. It _is_ how life works in Kirkwall.”

“Oui, c’mon. We gotta move fast.” There was no arguing, as the two rogues and two mages took off for the tunnels. Isabela had noticed the tail, and accepted that there was no way for her to discreetly get Fenders from following them without alerting Heretic and having an epic fight between the most akward threesome mating ritual she had ever encountered…well it wasn’t actually a threesome, more like a foursome including Justice, and not even that more like a love polygon that Isabela couldn’t figure out.

In her head she was already beginning to plot out the improbable orgy scene, was it twincest if Anders and Justice had their own bodies or was it some other new kink she had not become acquainted with? She would ponder it later after she’d gotten a few more drinks in her.

They fought through the tunnels, following tracks that Isabela and Varric saw. They raced through the winding paths, going far, going deep, going towards one place that Heretic never wanted her students, her children, to go to.

“GET AWAY FROM THEM YOU SLIMY NUG FACED PEDO COUGAR! I’M A BLOOD MAGE YOU SHOULD FEAR ME BITCHES!”

Well Dulci was still alive and screaming with all the bravado a sixteen year old girl could muster in the face of danger. They slowed their pace, just long enough to get a good glance at the situation. Dulci stood with Romy at her back, both girls glowing with magic, as Dulci hefted a long sword with both hands, holding it outwards defensively while fire wreathed its length. Leon was on the ground, unconscious and breathing shallowly, a nasty wound to his head, told Heretic that he’d tried to defend his friends before being taken down. Barkspawn stood in front of another body, one that stopped Heretic’s heart in her chest.

“Mama…” She breathed out quietly, looking at the bow still clasped in the older woman’s hands. A breath told her that the noblewoman was not dead, just unconscious, likely defending the children from the threat that faced them.

Yet what she saw surprised her, there was no templar platoon standing here in the belly of the Gallows, Ser Alrik did not stand in front of Dulci. It was something else, someone else far, far worse.

“If you were a bloodmage dear girl, then I would already be dead. Put that sword down and let us talk like civilized people.”

The sword wavered in Dulci’s hands, and she snarled. “No! I won’t! I hate you and your stupid face and I’m going to rape you with the pointy end of my sword! I eat kittens and virgins for breakfast and you look like a pussy!” Dulci, Heretic thought errantly, needed more help on her self motivational speeches. “Spread ‘em bitches, because I can take you.” It was all bravado, all fueled by fear and anger, and Heretic found herself proud of the smart mouthed little bitch. Annoyed as well, angry, worried, concerned but she was going to be fine because Heretic had come with the cavalry.

“Let her go monsieur Astaroth.” Heretic stepped out of the shadows, out of her hiding place. “She is not yers ta have.” The man smiled, his golden eyes flashing red for the barest of moments as he turned to her. He was unruffled, dressed like the perfect gentleman, a red cane in his hand that he leaned on only slightly. She caught a whiff of him, cloyingly sweet, it turned her stomach sour, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The sounds of swords and daggers unsheathing righted her wandering senses and she shook off the headiness that had invaded her mind for the barest moment. Desiderium flashed for a moment, going white and translucent as a ghost, existing half in the Fade and half in reality. Isabela stood beside her, battle ready, as Varric placed a bolt into Bianca’s chamber.

“Well shall see Heretic.” He smiled at her and dread filled her soul. She hated him, avoided him, because he was no mage, he was no mundane, he wasn’t human. She could tell it like a bad taste in her mouth, from her senses screaming at her. He was wrong like the Deep Roads, unsettling and ancient like the Primeval Thaig.

“Rosewell, McKracken get O’Dell ‘n go.” The girls could only take one person, and while Heretic loved her mother, she knew the choice that had to be made. Leon was still a boy, a good boy, often misguided, often mischievous, but good and he had the potential to become a great man on day. Her mother would be disappointed if Heretic gave up a chance to let the boy live. “NOW!” She shouted when the girls didn’t move, and the order seemed to break a spell on their frozen limbs as they hastily grabbed their friend, using their magic to make him lighter and they ran for the exit.

“So noble of you Heretic, so foolish. I lured them here, you understand, because I knew you would follow.” He sighed dramatically. “You are a thorn in my side, a constant nuisance. So I decided to be rid of you once and for all. A shame really since you are so very amusing.”

“Go t’ de Void.”

“All in good time little heathen.” He smiled, teeth flashing as the shadows moved around him ominously. She did not think, acting with the inborn instincts of a fighter and threw out some cards, activating them to explode as the world tilted around her dangerously. She cursed, reaching for her magic, launching herself towards him.

She dropped like a stone before she got there, foul magic bursting from Astaroth’s cane, enveloping the party and their followers, dragging them down, down, down into darkness.  
\-------

“Enchantment!”

“No, Leandra. Le-an-dra.”

Hawke walked into the Academy, seeing her Uncle Gamlen standing with Sandal, trying to question him. Hawke would have told her Uncle that it was foolish to try and get a concise and logical answer from the…uh special dwarf, but she avoided the man as much as possible after she finally got out of his Lowtown hovel.

“What’s the problem Uncle?” He turned to her, a certain desperation in his beady eyes that had Hawke just a little unsettled.

“There you are. Where’s your mother? Is she feeling alright?” The concern Gamlen had for her mother was almost touching, if it hadn’t been for Gamlen gambling away the family fortune, lands, and practically the title. She bit back a caustic retort, he was family. Family was important, special, and could be dealt with like the nobility, a necessary evil to bear because Mother would be upset if Hawke was less than ladylike to her poor sod of an uncle.

“I’m sure she’s alright. Why are you so upset?” Gamlen seemed genuine enough, for a rat of a man. Perhaps she was getting a glimpse of what could have been if Carver had not joined the Grey Wardens. Their correspondence was almost civil now, and their bickering was less bitter and more…familial and due to differences in personality rather than resentment and jealousy.

“She didn’t show up for our weekly visit. Is she ill? She is..here isn’t she?”

Bodhan sidled up now, concern creasing the middle aged dwarf’s eyes.

“No Gamlen, we haven’t seen her all day.”

Something dropped in Hawke’s stomach, dread and a nauseating fear combining to make her ache and chill all at once. She kept her face calm, collected, this was nothing she’d dealt with worse. Her mother was old enough to take care of herself…in Lothering. Not in Kirkwall.

“Where could she be?” Gamlen pondered aloud.

“With her suitor, perhaps?”

“Suitor? Leandra never mentioned a suitor.”

“Well those lilies arrived for her this morning.”

“White…lilies? I know something about that.” Hawke sucked in a breath, her mind falling to the serial killer she’d been tracking.

“What is it? Don’t keep me waiting.”

“There’s a killer in Kirkwall who sends his victims white lilies before he takes them. He’s murdered several women already.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“Aveline will alert the city guard to keep an eye out.” She tried to placate him, even as she felt her own fear spiking. Not her mother, please dear Maker not her momma.

“Alright, that girl will know what to do. Maybe…maybe Leandra took another way. I’ll go look.”

Her uncle left and Hawke let out a shaking breath as he went through the door. There was something that…it almost protested against this, but she ignored it. There were more important things than strange little doubts that this wasn’t real. She had no time to ponder, no time to stop and think.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, she had no solid memory of getting to Lowtown with Varric, Isabela, and Aveline behind her. She wasn’t even suited up but a staff was stuck to her back, like in the lost days before she became Heretic, when she worked for the Red Iron and had their protection to keep her out of the Gallows. It wasn’t even her usual staff, this was some spear looking thing, that burned her back with a firey edge.

She went through the motions, bribing the Urchin to give her the information she needed, soothing her Uncle. She felt strangely disconnected from it all until she saw the blood. The party grew tense as she followed the trail, being led to the Foundry of all places. She wasn’t surprised, this was where she’d found the first two women’s remains, and where she…the thought was cut off, taken over by the surprise of the trail leading to a trap door.

 _This has happened before, think…_

Something whispered in her head but she shook it off. No spirit would make her stray from this path. Her _mother_ was in danger. Her mother, the woman who had kissed scraped knees and braided flowers into her hair. Her mother, the woman who had graciously let a little chasind girl come visit from time to time with no ill words or looks. Her mother, an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove, who never allowed her children to forget that they were more than just outlaws and peasents. They were special, wonderful, clever, and strong. Her mother, who Hawke had swore to protect on her father’s death bed. That she would be strong and do good and be all that they needed to survive.

It was a blur again, like time had fast forwarded and looped and she was in a room, tired and panting covered in blood and her hair wasn’t up like it was supposed to be but down yet she was still wearing her glasses. She saw a gray haired man, and she knew him, she knew those robes and that hair and when the man turned something made her want to turn to the side and vomit.

“I was wondering when you’d show up. Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.” The man’s voice was wrong, so very wrong, cultured and gravelly from disuse. His pale eyes were so clever and wrong and Hawke wanted to fling a fireball at him to get him to stop looking at her. To stop giving her this look of odd affection, like he was seeing someone else in her face.

“Where is she?” Her hands clenched and Hawke’s magic fluttered around her, pulsing with the dizzying emotions running through her.

The man smiled so vilely, so demented and cracked and wrong that she wanted to run away. Few people could make her want to flee, yet this man dripping with his demented evil, with this dark magic that lingered in places best forgotten accomplished that.

“You will never understand my purpose. Your mother was chosen because she was special. And now she is part of something greater.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” It was a lie, but lies always came easiest when speaking to crazy people who went around killing women and dismembering them for some sick reason. “Just release my mother and we’ll go.” It was a lie as well, Hawke would get her mother safely behind her then she would kill this bastard for daring to think to harm her mother. Mother was fine, she had to be. Hawke couldn’t have…she couldn’t fail again.

“She’s here, she’s waiting for you. I have done the impossible. I have touched the face of the Maker and lived. Do you know what the strongest force in the universe is?” The man wandered away, turning his back to Hawke and going to the women in white. “Love. I pieced her together from memory. I found her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers, and at last her face. Oh this beautiful face… I’ve searched far and wide to find you again beloved and no force on this earth shall part us.”

Hawke watched as the woman stood, as she shuffled from around the chair like a corpse then…Maker save her she saw what had happened. Tears blinded her eyes, horror washed through her, denial clenched her heart, and shock slackened her face. She couldn’t utter a word, a scream, no sound could escape in the wash of blinding rage that drenched her.

She could see Papa laid out in bed, his last breath stuttering out as her magic eased him into the sleep in which he would never wake. She saw Bethany clenched in an ogre’s fist, hear bones cracking, things bursting as blood poured out of her baby sister’s mouth, and she was thrown like a broken lifeless ragdoll to the side in a Ogre’s fit of pique. She could see the blackened veins under Carver’s pale skin, the fear that he wouldn’t make it to the surface if it hadn’t been for an odd dwarf woman who had led them to wardens who could delay his death for some years. Now this, her mother broken apart and stitched together into some sort of horrible meat puppet.

She had failed them all, but she would not let them been unavenged. She made no noise as she threw herself into battle, her entire focus on the madman who had done this atrocity. She came at him with fire, ice and lightening, she came at him with her staff, the blade slicing his skin to ribbons and waiting when the barriers came up, letting her mana restore just a little before she was on him again like a wildbeast.

When he fell she took after the corpses, the abominations, and the demons, she killed and killed and killed drowning herself in muck and blood in an attempt to soothe the wounds in her soul. When the last corpse fell she turned, she turned towards that shuffling abomination wearing her mother’s face and ran to it. She held it gently when it collapsed.

“I knew you would come.” It sounded like her voice, except rougher, like she had a sore throat and talking hurt but she needed to anyway because it was _important_.

“Don’t I always?” She made the worst possible quip at the worst possible time but the thing that wore her mother’s face smiled a little a shushed her. Hawke wanted to be sick, she wanted to vomit but vomiting next to her mother’s..abomination was something even she couldn’t do. Not right now, so she settled on tears in her eyes and streaming down her face and trying to stop trembling so as not to worry the thing she held that looked like her mother.

“Don’t fret darling, that man would’ve kept me trapped in here…now I’m free. I’ll be with Bethany and Father.” Mother’s comforting words were _not helping_. They were tearing little pieces of her soul away. “But you’ll be left all alone..”

“I should have watched over you more closesly, I should have…” Her voice trembled and broke and she tried to hide it all but her mother knew. Her mother knew and damn her she just gave her that look her mother always gave her when Hawk-no when Moirae was trying to be too strong, too responsible for a girl her age.

“My little girl has become so strong. I love you. You’ve always made me so proud.” She grew limp in his arms and what magic that had tied her here left. She was silent for a moment, silent as she held the corpse doll close and rocked back and forth trying to fight against the overwhelming emotions. A keen built up in her throat, a mournful wounded sound that built and built and built until it came out as a scream.

When she ran out of air she bent her head and sobbed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! This wasn’t how it was to end. She…they..her thoughts stuttered and fragmented, breaking apart, and all she knew in this moment was grief.

“No.”

She whispered.

“No.”

Her voice grew stronger, her denial roaring back because this was too painful, too horrible, and so very very wrong. Her eyes flashed blue, as for a single moment in her fury and her agony she saw this for what it was.

 **NO**

Her mind and voice rejected as one, power flowing out from her, through her, burning away this horrible nightmare. The fade dream crumbled around her and she found herself quite suddenly stranded in the Fade.

 _Bugger it all_

An inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Isabela summed up the situation aptly. There was something disconcerting that one of her inner voices sounded like Isabela, but she had more important things to worry about. Like how exactly Astaroth had managed to send her into the Fade.

The more she saw of the man, the more she feared him. Fear was a good, rational response to have when faced with the unknown. Despite all actions saying the contrary, Hawke knew fear and she respected it. She would not allow it to take her over, but she knew when to respect the emotion as a healthy response to dangerous situations. The fearless were foolish and never respected the threats they faced, but the fearful never acted, so she had to walk a fine line.

Maker damn it all.

She wiped her face, trying to contain her emotions after seeing her nightmare become so real. Even knowing it was a dream, even knowing it wasn’t real, couldn’t keep the pain from hurting her like it had been. Hawke would not rest easy until she saw her mother safe and sound. Still this wasn’t time for wallowing or licking wounds. This was a time for finding a way to get out of the Fade.

“You…You aren’t supposed to be here.” Hawke froze as a familiar voice, surprisingly familiar voice came up behind her. She turned, shock written on her face as she looked at Flemeth, the old woman standing before her with curiosity in her eyes.

“Now how did you get here, I wonder, to this lost place? So full of surprises, it is no surprise that Morrigan liked you so much little girl.” The old woman stepped closer, invading Hawke’s personal space as she stared down at the much younger woman. “The magic that sent you here is ancient, but weak. The threads that hold you here are already weakening, and it will take but a snap of my fingers to free you and all the others caught in this web. But you know that I need something in return.”

“There is always a catch.”

“Of course, but I find that this catch benefits you as well.” Flemeth stepped away, waving her hand and with that motion the fade rippled and parted. They hung like flies in a spider’s web, suspended in the air and tangled in the threads. Only Anders had his eyes open, and it wasn’t even Anders it was Justice struggling against the bonds that held him. All the others, even Fenris, whom Hawke hadn’t known had been there lay trapped in nightmares likely as foul and distressing as the one she had been in.

“They will be free, you will be free, if you agree to further your studies in the magic Morrigan taught you.”

“In shapeshifting? You’ll help to free us if I further my knowledge in shapeshifting?”

Flemeth smiled, cold, dark, and filled with a promise that Hawke wasn’t sure she wanted to make. “Yes, if you meet me on Sundermount and stay there for a month, with me, learning my magic. You have such potential, and I cannot tell if it has been fate or chance that keeps crossing our paths.”

Hawke turned, looking at her friends, her companions, then back to Flemeth. Her spine straightened, her lips formed a thin line and she nodded like she had during the Blight, when a very similar trade had been offered. “I will do as you ask Flemeth.” The old witch smirked and nodded, lifting her hand and waving it once more.

Energy coalesced for a single moment, like the quiet before a storm, then it was let loose. Like in an ill timed explosion she felt herself being thrown back with a force that should rightfully kill her, that should splatter her Fade self into her body. Yet things did not work like that in the Fade or coming back from it and she opened her eyes.

“You will not take my daughter you fiend!” Her mother’s voice, filled with rage and protectiveness that made Ha-Moirae want to weep. Mother was alive and the nightmare she’d seen was all but a shadow dream that could never come to pass. An arrow was loosed and she could hear the dull wet thunk of it hitting flesh.

A resigned sigh made her sit up with a snarl. “It looks like I will not win this round, but I am watching you little heathen.” She watched as Astaroth took the arrow shaft and plucked it out of his body, letting it drop to the ground before he tipped his head politely to them before walking towards the Gallows.

“Oh darling, I woke up to you on the ground and he was chanting something awful. I’m so glad you’re awake, are you unharmed?” Moirae found herself at a loss at what to do when her mother enveloped her in a hug. “Mama, ‘m kinda…” She trailed off and Leandra smiled pulling back and cupping Moirae’s cheek gently. “Of course, how silly of me. We’ll talk when you get home.” She got up, moving away quickly with Barkspawn at her heels, navigating the fallen bodies of her rescue party with all the dignity and ease a noblewoman rogue could muster.

“So much fer him not havin’ hoodoo.” She muttered, lifting herself gingerly from the ground. Her immediate companions sat up in various states of panic, Desiderium the calmest while Isabela only relaxed when she saw Heretic standing on her feet. She nodded at them in acknowledgement, as she scanned the area for the two wayward companions.

“Broodypants? Anders?” She called out and there was a sound, like pebbles hitting stone but no movement she could discern. She sighed loudly. “I _know_ yer close ‘cause y’all got caught in da Fade wit’ us. Come on out, we’re getting’ drinks ‘cause I sure as hell need somet’in’ ta drown out dat nightmare.”

There were a few murmured agreements and Fenris slowly emerged from a shadow, Anders on his heels. Fenris looked pale, a haunted quality to his eyes as he looked her over before the vulnerability faded and his anger came forth.

“Those were apostates!” He snarled and Heretic pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the mother of all headaches she knew was going to come. She counted to ten, then back to one, then back to ten. She was raw, felt sullied in strange and unusual ways after having made a deal with Flemeth, she was still worried about her idiotic students.

“Oui, dey are.” She finally said, could finally reply to his accusation. It seemed to stroke him further into his ire while Anders gave her a most curious look.

“That girl was a bloodmage! She screamed it loud enough for all to hear. I thought the only bloodmage you allowed in your company was that Dalish witch, is my opinion of you wrong? Are you become more sympathetic to your Tevinter bretheren?” He strode forward, towards her, while he ranted. Anders stayed behind, watching, thinking, trying to find a reason for this.

“Rosewell is one part bitch, three parts bravado, wit’ stupid sprinkles ontop. She says she’s a blood mage like she says dat yer dick’s tiny ‘n Meredith is a closeted lesbian. Girl don’ know anyt’in’ about blood magic save fer what she can learn on how ta defend herself against it.” Desiderium snickered beside her, remembering a handful of occasions when the girl had said that and worse to him.

“Two, maybe three apostates in the belly of the Gallows, and you knew them by name. Lady Hawke’s mabari was here, as well as Lady Leandra. _What do you know_?” He reached her then, staring down at her, and his hand reached up as if itching to phase through her chest. He was worried, frightened, angry like he was beginning to realize that the two most important people in his life rarely told him anything and they might know eachother and conspire against him. He was starting to think that he was worthless, that he was impotent in the one task he had prided himself in. Heretic looked at him, warding off a headache, trying to find an answer to his question that didn’t point him in the right direction but also didn’t hurt his feelings.

“Cher,” She began weary and tired. “I know a lot more ‘bout lots o’ t’ings dan y’ do. I know ‘bout oder movements in de city fer mages rights ‘n freedoms dan de mage underground. I know de allies, de enemies, de monsters dat lurk in de shadows. De secrets I keep ain’t ‘cause I don’ trust ya, but ‘cause dere’s more den one life at stake. I trust ya wit’ my back, I trust ya ta take ya wit’ me on missions, but yer justifiable hatred o’ mages, yer wariness ‘n fear o’ dem keeps me from takin’ ya inta de fold. It’s fer everyone’s benefit. No one gets close ta me Broodypants, ‘cause I got a lot ridin’ on my ability ta keep secrets.”

He glared at her, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her close. “ _Bullshit_.” He snarled lips coming dangerously close to hers. “You will tell me your secrets, one day, because you will know that my loyalty to you supersedes even my hatred of your kind. Because you have earned it, for killing Hadriana, for killing the hunters after me, for nearly dying more times than I can count to keep me free. So do not presume that you are less to me than you are, I chose you Heretic and you will not keep yourself from me.”

If life were a romance he would have kissed her then. He would have crushed his lips to hers, but he didn’t, he pushed her away from him with all the fury and disgust he could manage. They both knew he meant what he said, that he was now going to hunt her secrets, hound her for information until she caved. She fell to the ground in an ungraceful heap, annoyed none of her flabbergasted companions had moved to help her.

He left then and there, leaving Anders behind. The tall golden haired man, looked thoughtful for a moment, before making his way to her. He clasped her arm and helped her up, as she shot a bird to the other three who only chuckled.

“Heretic may I…a word please? In my clinic?” She opened her mouth to protest but Anders gave her such a pleading look, a terribly manipulative look only small children, cute fluffy animals, and Merrill should be able to get away with. It was horrible, knowing she was being manipulated by a grown man who was older than her by at least a decade. Her lips closed, a pained sigh escaped her. This night was getting longer and longer and she still hadn’t told her mother that she was going to be leaving for a month.

“Oui oui, just…got any booze? I’m gonna need it.”

Anders nodded, Varric coming up to pat her hip gently before moving on. “Come on, I think we have a few things to do before we can rest.” He said to no one and everyone, and as Isabela came to pass by them she leaned over and pressed a kiss to Heretic’s cheek, the brief affection relaxing her as Desiderium passed by without acknowledging her. The less they seemed to know each other, even cloaked in mystery, the better it would be.

She and Anders left the tunnels last, silent and weighty. The walk to his clinic was nothing more than time to let her overworked mind and emotions rest just a little before she was once again bombarded with stimulus. Perhaps she could just hide in Anders’ clinic, sleep there, then nip back home and try to avoid telling her mother of another deal with Flemeth. It wouldn’t work, because sleeping in the mask was uncomfortable and she wasn’t ready yet to tell Anders anything, because Anders loved his mage underground too much.

He let her inside, motioned for her to sit on one of the dilapidated crates that served the dual function of storage device and guest seating while he rummaged in back to get a dusty bottle of something that smelled like it could take the beard off a dwarf and then grow it back seconds later. When she had taken her first sip of whatever vile alcoholic liquid Anders had given her, he broke the silence.

“You’re the one heading the organization that takes the children, aren’t you?” He held his cup, staring into it. “At first we thought…that slavers were taking them, buying children from parents that’s what it’s always looked like, except they kept going for mage children. You knew that though, I asked you about it and you said you had it handled but they kept being taken. It wasn’t Templars, it wasn’t slavers, and children kept being taken and disappearing from around the Free Marches.”

He paused, not looking at her.

“The Underground has been investigating, since we thought you were somehow unreliable in this but you were more reliable than we were. You were…you are…” He couldn’t finish, and against the screaming voice in his head he took a long swallow from the cup in his hands.

“Why don’t you ever work with us?”

She set her cup down beside her as she collected her thoughts. “Anders, I don’ like de Underground. Y’all do shit ‘n ya end up fuckin’ over not just Kirkwall but mages in general. Yer overzealous ‘n ya try ta do too much wit’ too little ‘n end up hurtin’ people. I can’ help dat Anders, de Underground fer it’s good intentions is a train headin’ nowhere.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She picked up her glass, swirling the contents in it for a moment before taking a sip.

“I won’ tell ya.” She offered finally. Eyes closing she steadied herself against the inevitable tide of anger that she was going to face. There was a growl, and the sound of glass hitting the floor before she was jerked up. Her eyes opened, magic sparking at her fingertips, and she saw Anders’ face close to her and tortured.

“Stop it!” His voice was furious, pained, and blue light cracked underneath his skin. Was Justice trying to…? She felt his breath, hot, warm, wet, and flavored with alcohol against her face and it really should frighten her. Heretic stared back at him, not flinching when his grip tightened, as if she were about to slip away into nothingness.

“Stop it, Maker damn you but…I love you. I ache for you, I do things I would never do because you asked me to. I _love_ you and I don’t even know your face. But I know that you care about Kirkwall, I know that you’re kind, that sometimes you pretend not to but you cry when we can’t save everyone, I know that you’re witty, sassy, and…” He trailed off. “I tell you everything, every secret that is mine to give is yours if you ask it. I burden you with every problem I get, and you help me and the things you ask of me are nothing like what I ask of you. I seem to keep doing that to women I care about, I’m terrible, awful really, and somewhat of an abomination. I don’t deserve…but I want, please.”

He didn’t kiss her like she thought he would, instead her moved her closer and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against him tightly, and she stood motionless for a second. Unsure of what to do, but his tense frame and stuttering breaths made her own natural caring instincts rise and she wrapped her arms around him.

“Shhhh shhhh.” She soothed, calming him, quieting him, as she let her magic come to the surface and sink into him like a comforting blanket. Her father had said that magic could help soothe wounds that weren’t physical; all it took was willing to bare a part of yourself to another. It was like sharing secrets under the blanket on a stormy night with Bethany. She let him really feel her magic, let him feel her power, let it wrap around him and soothe him, because if you didn’t trust you didn’t share this, you couldn’t share it. He would know her now, from all others, because her magic was as unique as her soul.

“You lo-”

“I can’t Anders. I _can’t_ ‘cause there’s too many secrets, too many lies, ‘tween us. ‘cause I can’t be fair ta ya, I ain’t a saint. I never will be. It isn’t just ya, cher. Fenris can’t be mine eider. It ain’t fair ‘cause I can’t choose ‘tween two wonderful men, two very good men who need love. It’s all me, all me ‘n _my_ cause ‘n _my_ lies. What was it ya said ta me once..? ‘Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart’. It already happened cher, we’re torn apart ‘cause we’re soldiers fer ideas. Same war, different generals, but de jist is de same. Ideals don’ warm a bed at night, ‘n we bot’ now are more causes den people.”

There was a sound in the back of his throat, pained and wounded. “Don’t throw my words back at me.” He whispered and she rubbed his back, trying to relax tense muscles, trying to stop his pain but knowing that she was going to have to hurt him. This life, this time, was too painful too tumultuous for her to be able to love. Or perhaps, the better thought was, allow herself to put down the mantle and let herself live for love rather than her cause, her city.

They likely would have stayed that way if Anders hadn’t tensed up again, light flickering on his skin, right before the door to the clinic burst open.

“Sparklefingers! Do your twitchy skirty wearing magic finger hooha, ‘cause I got this sodding rash in uncomfortable places.” The smell hit her before the sound of the rough voice did and the pitiful groan from Anders was enough to tell her that the dwarf wasn’t a threat to her person or the person in her arms.

“Maker’s breath dwarf! How do you keep ruining special heartfelt moments with your depravity?” Anders had fallen into someplace between Heaven and the Void, and Oghren was to be his guide to his eternal fate. Which meant he was going to be lost before getting to either place, or driven mad and setting Oghren on fire.

“Heh it’s a talent. Who’s the pretty lady?”

Heretic disentangled herself from Anders, falling easily into the mask and her role as Anders had when the particularly pungent dwarf burst through the door.

“Y’ can call me Heretic.” She purred, her lips quick to pull upwards in a smirk and her eyes twinkling with mischief she really didn’t feel deep down. She was too tired, too worn, too hurt and all she wanted to do was tell Anders that, no it was fine that they could love eachother and be happy and life would be sparkles and rainbows and happily ever afters.

“Not even a ‘hello Anders, good to see you’ it’s all ‘huuuuurh I’m a short stinky dwarf who probably used something for lube improperly’.”

“What can I say? Darkspawn blood is pretty viscous.” The old dwarf laughed drunkenly while even Heretic couldn’t help but put her hands to her eyes and gag. Anders was no more immune than she was making a disgusted sound and backing away slowly from Oghren. She just…the images her mind conjured were too horrible to fully think out, which she was doing so in grand detail, and that meant she was going to be sending the exact phrasing to Carver. It wouldn’t do that she would be the only Hawke sibling to be emotionally traumatized by this.

“Andraste’s flaming knicker weasles! I can’t unhear that! I can’t unthink that!”

“Créateur souffle! Ma poor brain, ma poor poor brain.” Heretic whimpered. Years with Isabela as a friend could not strengthen her against that sort of mental imagry. “I didn’ do nothin’ to ya! Why’d ya drag me inta this?”

“I told you, don’t play with fire unless you wanna get burned, son. Knew the commander’s ‘word a day’ lessons were gonna help me.”

“Why are you here Oghren? I told you I’m not going back to the Wardens.” Anders said petulantly, the grimness he often wore as a mantle melting away under the presence of the dwarf, or was it simply another mask, one that Oghren was familiar with? Heretic wanted to know the answer but wouldn’t allow herself to know it either.

“You can’t unjoin the Wardens. Look we got business here, business you might be able to help with.” Heretic looked at them both, at the sudden sobering of Oghren’s features and the weightiness of the room. Sighing she slammed back the rest of the liquor in her glass, put it down, and looked at them both.

“I am many awesome t’ings but Warden ain’t one. Gonna go, cher.” She moved and touched Anders’ arm, letting her magic brush his for a moment before retracting. “See ya later. Nice meetin’ ya monsieur Oghren.” She nodded to them both and beat a hasty retreat. She went through the catacombs’ entrance, climbing up and up until she got to the Academy.

She pulled off her mask, sighing as she went to her mother’s rooms. Hawke and Leandra rarely talked anymore, they both had their roles, their duties to fulfill and rarely did they intersect. Leandra was in charge of the youngest magelings they found, a surrogate mother to love the small band of mismatched children whose only single defining tie was that they all had magic. They would never replace Bethany, but Leandra could love them all the same without burdening them with a grieving mother’s guilt.

“Mother.” Her tone was tired, her accent the clipped noble tones that Leandra had strived to imbue into her children. It hadn’t worked, years spent living in the furthest villages and towns in Fereldan had given her a wide range of accents to fall upon. She sagged a little, Leandra didn’t need bravado, she didn’t need masks, she could see through them with a keen eye.

Leandra was one of the few people she didn’t have to be Hawke with, or Heretic, or something else entirely. She was simply Moirae, her eldest little girl who tried so hard to be good and brave and strong.

“Darling, oh you do look tired.” Leandra came to her, already changed into a nightshift, the creamy white flimsy material looked lovely on her. Everything looked lovely on Leandra though, she wore the clothes, no matter what they were, they didn’t wear her. “What happened?” Leandra led Moirae to her bed, sitting her down on the soft mattress while she brought her daughter a cup of fragrant tea.

“That man sent us into the Fade. He trapped us in nightmares, only Anders and I broke free of ours during the time we were there. Apparently he used old magic, and somehow Flemeth was there and she saved us for a price.”

“Oh my little girl what did you do?” Leandra sounded so worried, so concerned, and Moirae just sagged a little more under the weight of that tone, sipping her tea woodenly as the emotional upheavals once again crashed through her and made themselves known.

“I am to spend a month with her, to perfect the art of shapeshifting. I will leave on the morrow, after I have rested and managed to think up some sort of excuse to allow myself the time. Oh by the way I’ve also managed to hurt or ruin two very wonderful men tonight as well. It will be only a matter of time before we all break each other. I just…I’m so very weary Mama.”

“I know darling, I know.” Putting her arm around her eldest’s shoulders, she drew her close, letting her rest against her body for a little while. They stayed like that for a few minutes, just quietly comforting each other, basking in the fact for the moment both of them were alive. Moirae then pulled away with the greatest reluctance, quietly finishing her tea. She stood up, placing saucer and cup on the nightstand.

“Mama…A man I love once told me ‘Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart.’ That’s my dream, do you think I can make it happen? For these children, and their children?”

Leandra couldn’t hide the tears in her eyes as she smiled at her eldest, noting the pale color of her skin and the weariness in her green eyes, the dirt smudging on her left cheek and the disarray of her hair.

“Darling, you can. You are a wonderful, bright, clever girl who has always made me proud.”

“Not as proud as being your daughter has always made me feel, Mama.” Moirae smiled at her mother, eyes filled with a sadness and wisdom far beyond her mortal years. Leandra wondered when her daughter had aged so much, had lost so much of the innocence that had once defined her. Kirkwall had certainly earned its name, the City of Chains, because if she squinted and tilted her head she could see the heavy slave collar, the unyielding chains that now bound her daughter to this place and its survival.

“Goodnight Moirae.”

“Goodnight Mama.”

When she got back to her rooms, finished showering, and changed into the simple nightdress Moirae did not acknowledge the tears that ran down her face as thoughts of what _never could be_ lulled her into a restless dreaming.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life gets complicated.

**One Month Later**

Orlais had been lovely, at least in Hawke’s head. She had gotten to wander the cobbled streets, seen all the sights she had to see, done her business and come back. That was, at least the story she was going to tell the nobles. The truth of the matter was Hawke felt horrible, tired, her mind had been stretched, broken, and remade multiple times and she was as close as she was ever going to be to stark raving mad.

Flemeth had that effect on people, no wonder Morrigan had always been a bit tetchy with a mother like that. She was surprised Morrigan hadn’t started setting puppies and kittens on fire in her fits of pique.

“Hello Orana I-“

“Mistress you have guests, in the parlor. They’ve been waiting to meet with you.” Hawke wanted to set something ablaze at the fit of irritation that never made itself known on her face. She was, however, recalling every filthy word she had ever learned and combining them into an inventive and grammatically correct sentence describing her current unknown guests. “They’re Gray Wardens, Professor Velanna is with them.”

Hawke wished to deflate, or hide, yet she straightened her spine put on her coolest mask and strode towards where the guests were. The faster she saw to them, the faster they’d go and likely the faster the school could be up and running.

“I apologi-“

“Sister.”

The surly petulant voice made the coolness slip for a moment and a hint of a smile quirked her lips. “ _Carver_ ” She turned to where he stood, right beside the door, and before he could protest wrapped her arms around him. “If you struggle I’ll shock you.” She whispered to him as he chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, his omnipresent bitchiness retreating for a moment, not gone, just hiding under the wrath of an eldest sister.

She let him go, stepping back, surveying the rest of the crowd gathered in her parlor. There was Velanna, glaring almost fondly at Ogrhen the dwarf she had briefly met before, a dour faced man with an unfortunate nose on his otherwise passably handsome visage, and Anders looking put out and irritated.

“Well what do I owe the pleasure of a gathering of Wardens in my home?”

She raised her eyebrow at them, cool, unflappable, and utterly in charge. The dwarf openly leered at her chest, eyes only falling briefly to the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips before travelling back up. Velanna made a disgusted sound, and before anyone could react her hand flung out and a sizzle of electricity hit Ogrhen, making the dwarf yelp.

“Keep your eyes on the floor or on her face dwarf. Next time I will make it hurt.”

“Promises promises, heh.”

“Headmistress Hawke.” The dark haired man came forward, his speech holding the impeccable inflections only the noble born educated could hold. She turned her gaze to him, letting Carver go settle against the wall again, surveying the understated elegance of the room, of the mansion. “I am Warden Nathaniel Howe. As we understand it, you led an expedition into the Deep Roads further than anyone else has ever gone before.”

“Yes, that was years ago serrah. It is why my dear brother is a part of your Order, he contracted the taint down there.” She didn’t sit down, nor did she relax, she stood straight and proud, staring evenly at the man not intimidated or cowed by his presence. His lips almost quirked up into a smile at her tenacity. She did not hate him simply because of his name, she seemed to dismiss it despite the notoriety it held with any Fereldan. She mostly seemed vexed that they were unexpected guests poking into matters, as Carver had warned him, that would seem rather personal to her.

“We are going to retrace your expedition’s route, but unfortunately your brother does not quite remember the way and there are no maps in our possession that would lead us there.” It did not surprise her, only Maker knew how long her had had the taint, and the Deep Roads had a disconcerting ability to look remarkably similar to eachother. If Varric hadn’t taught her a handful of small tricks, she might not have been able to remember the way herself.

“So you need me to produce a map for you?” She hoped it would be that easy, but a quick glance to Anders’ face told her otherwise.

 _Balls_

“Not quite, we would like to procure your services in helping us. Your knowledge of what lies down there, the routes, possible traps, would be invaluable to us. Headmistress Hawke you have done what few outside the Wardens and Legion of the Dead do.”

“Forgive me for not feeling particularly flattered with an invitation to go into Blight infested tunnels.” Her voice was cool and crisp. “I have just come back from Orlais, I am tired, I am weary, and I am not the only one who went into the dark. Have you not propositioned Varric or Aveline? My head butler also went with me; did you not inquire about his willingness to join?”

It was Carver who turned to her, large hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

“Sister, the only dwarf we are going to allow ourselves to bring is Oghren. Aveline can’t leave for an extended period of time and I can’t remember much of what transpired down there. You have to help us.”

Hawke did not slump like she wanted to, nor did she break her gaze with Carver’s eyes. “Are you asking this of me? Are you, not the Order, asking me to go into the Deep Roads once more?” She watched his gaze narrow, his lips tighten as a curt nod was her only answer.

“If I go, Velanna stays, I will not have my school understaffed more than is must be.”

“Then so be it, we leave in three days time sister.”

“You’re telling mother.”

Carver sighed but nodded his assent, and Hawke turned to look at the remaining wardens. “Please leave unless you have other business you wish to attend to?” Her dismissal was clear as day and Nathaniel tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Very well, thank you for your agreement. Let’s go.”

The wardens trooped out of her house, save for Anders and Velanna. Velanna glanced once at Hawke then at Anders, sneering at him before leaving the room to hopefully go and teacher her students. She studied Anders in the daylight, the first time she’d seen him in a month. He looked…horrible. His skin was pale, his eyes tired with dark circles underneath, his scruff was scruffier, and he looked thinner.

“Oh Anders, what’s happened?” She couldn’t find it in herself to be waspish. He looked at her, sad and forlorn and looking so terribly lonely that she wanted to wrap her arms around him.

“Oh you know, the usual, a woman I love can’t love me back, one of my friends knew I existed but never bothered to drop by for a chat or even appear whenever I dropped by to visit you, and you nip off for Orlais on some secret hush hush business right before I’m basically conscripted again and find out I have to help drag you into the Deep Roads one way or another.” His smile was thin and wane.

She felt guilt and an answering sense of hurt in her heart as she looked at him. He was fragile, so easily broken, and she had done a great deal to mishandle him. Her lips pressed together and she hastily made a decision.

Hawke went to him, watching his profile as he turned to look out the window into the garden. It was the end of spring, nearing the beginning of summer, the air was warm and only mildly humid and the light almost at its brightest here in Kirkwall, the gloom only half suffocating, with sporadic shafts of light pushing through the cloud cover.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, resting her chin on his head. He stiffened for a moment, almost moving to get out of the embrace, before relaxing.

“Sometimes friends need hugs.” She whispered to him, as he didn’t dare look at her in the reflection of the glass, nor did he ask her aloud the question she could see on his face. He relaxed where he sat, her embrace warm and comforting and familiar despite this being the first time they had ever hugged. “You are my friend, through better or worse, and I’m sorry for leaving when you needed me.”

“Why did you?”

She sighed, this business of being emotional with him, with letting him get glimpses of her real self was tricky. The more truth she revealed the closer he would likely come in seeing how distinctly similar the two women he was infatuated with actually were. The closer she was to having the world blow up.

“If I could have stayed I would have, but I had an appointment to keep. Dragons get so nasty if you’re late or reengage on bargins.”

“You’ve never met a dragon.”

“I have, several times, once even in the Deep Roads. I hope there are no dragons this time, they’re nasty.” He smiled then, leaning back into her relishing the affection she was giving him. Perhaps now…that he’d been shot down by Heretic he could pursue Hawke. She was beautiful, witty, and once he peeled off the mask she wore she was far more engaging. She still had a basketful of secrets he had to find out about first. He might make headway in the Deep Roads, not the most idyllic place for wooing, but she had somehow gotten _Justice_ to like her. Enough at least to where the spirit protested loudly and frequently if he tried to imagine anything more sexual than kissing.

“I won’t let them take you back.” She said after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “You’re ours now and this is your last favor. If they try to take you Varric will have words with them, then after Varric talks them into agreeing to let you stay we can have a celebratory dinner.”

“Why?” He wanted to know what he had done, what he could have done to make Headmistress Hawke, practical sneaky reclusive Headmistress Hawke decide to take on an entire Order to keep him in his hovel in Darktown.

“Because you’re our friend.” She tugged on a loose strand of his hair, her tone as if she were explaining to a small child why the world worked the way it worked. It was a truth that Anders found he could not deny, even with Fenris and their constant shouting match, their arguments. Anders would begrudgingly admit that he would give his life for the ornery elf.

“Now Anders, I want you here bright and early tomorrow morning. You and I will have a special breakfast and then go shopping for supplies, since most of my clothing will not be acceptable wear for the Deep Roads. Go, eat, rest. Everything should work out in the end.” The last part was a lie, one that fell from her lips easily because she herself wanted to believe that it would happen. Anders closed his eyes and nodded and she let go of him, standing back. He quietly got to his feet, opening his eyes and looking at her, wanting to hold her again because she had made the ache lessen for a little while.

How funny it was that not long ago he had very nearly hated her, that he had found her annoying and snobbish. Now he was beginning to see the cracks in the lie she had woven tightly around herself, pieces of the real women underneath. He was beginning to want her because she was…starting to become real to him.

He needed to calm himself, he needed to think because he couldn’t hurt her. She deserved to be cared for for who she was, not replace a woman who he wanted but could never have. Her soft smile soothed him. “I should do as you said, rest now before we go. Do you know I hate the blighted Deep Roads?”

“I know, you’re smart like that.” He nodded easing a little because she was back and she wasn’t going to leave him behind. This month without Hawke, without Heretic coming to him for jobs, was dark, lonely. He couldn’t escape her words, the knowledge that she loved him, but that they were too much embroiled in their causes for anything else. She couldn’t, wouldn’t be there for him. How funny that at first he had tried to warn her away only to fall himself and have her remind him that he had started to become too close.

“Not too smart, I keep going back there.”

“Look on the bright side….okay there is no bright side but I’ll think of something by the time we go.” He chuckled a little, nodding his goodbye. He…he wanted to know her better, especially now because she employed Velanna and had somehow earned the crazy Dalish’s trust, and he was almost positive that he had seen the teens who had been in the tunnels scrubbing the floors with toothbrushes under the watchful eye of Desiderium. He didn’t want to presume, but he…he thought that with Hawke’s close ties to Varric, to Aveline, and how both of them seemed to be tangled up in everything Heretic did…it would be natural to assume that Hawke was a part of the movement that had the mage children. Her school would be the perfect place to hide them…but now wasn’t the time.

She watched him leave. Despairing quietly because she couldn’t stop herself from comforting him, from caring for him. By all rights she should run, had been running…but had it been away from him or towards him? And Fenris… she bit the inside of her cheek for a moment, trying to think, then giving up on that activity she went to go somehow work her schedule into allowing her another two weeks or so ‘vacation’.

Speaking with Orana and Bodhan, who both went into understandable fits of worry, then her Professors, it was nearly suppertime before Hawke found time to leave the Academy. Taking a basket filled with food, wine, and a few books she made the short trek from the Academy’s gates to Fenris’ mansion. The cold detached feeling of almost tranquility blanketed her, the choker firmly latched to her neck.

She had made it up the stairs to the front door when a growl made her stop. “Lady Hawke.” Detaching from the shadows Fenris stared at her, half disbelieving til his eyes settled on the hated golden necklace, the one that reminded him too much of a slave collar. Hawke was a free woman, she should never be collared, she should never hide behind chains and masks.

He never allowed himself to think of what would happen if she gave herself freely to someone. For her to wear their token proudly for all to see, for all to know that she belonged to someone else. He never dared to dream that she would wear his token, his gifts. Even with her affliction, she deserved so much more.

His frustration at himself fueled his angry steps forward, opening the door with ease and escorting her inside. He plucked the basket from her hands, setting it down gently before rounding on her, backing her up into the door as he closed it and kept her contained.

“Take. It. Off.” He hated that calm placid look in her eyes now. How she was so unruffled because she could not feel, or felt much less, and it rubbed him the wrong way. _This is just a taste of what it would be like seeing her in the Gallows, her spirit broken. They would never let her remain as she is, they’d kill her and make a doll in her place._ A voice whispered in his mind and he snarled, fighting against the fate he would never let her have, even the idea of it nearly drove him mad. Now he understood Anders’ fear of the rite, and all it took was…caring for a mage to make such a logical solution turn into a nightmarish hell.

Her hands were too slow, and uncaring of impropriety because the first time he’d seen her in a _month_ was her collared and chained by her own volition, he spun her around. He took just enough care not to mark her, not to scratch her delicate skin with the claws of his gauntlets as he practically ripped the choker from her neck. The change was almost instantaneous, her relaxed muscles tensed and her breathing changed.

“Fenris? May I please be freed?”

The new notes in her voice, the ones that had only been hinted at before, the ones he grew to crave once he’d finally heard them after that disastrous time where she nearly died for her stubbornness and fear. He lingered for a moment, relishing in not immediately having to obey an order or request, even if it was from the woman he most cared for in this world. _He_ was in charge here and she needed to know it.

He eased back, slowly, relaxed now that she was here and herself. She gave him a quizzically amused look and bent to retrieve her basket that he once again snatched from her grasp.

“It is good to see you too.” He loved the way her lips turned up into that half smile and how her eyes twinkled when she was amused. He had learned, from Leandra, that Lady Hawke was reserved because she was forced to be by those around her. Her father had taught his children, but most especially Lady Hawke, to only give half the truth unless circumstances dictated that a blatant lie was needed or that the truth could be given in its entirety. He had fallen for only a small part of her child, and the more he saw the more he wanted, and the more he wanted to protect.

“Lady Hawke, I heard that you had some interesting visitors on your first day back.”

Her smile faltered then, and his hackles raised because he hated that something had invariably gone wrong. He was going to kill Anders. Plain and simple because he knew the healer had been there and hadn’t prevented whatever burden that chased away her smile from happening.

“Yes, Gray Wardens. You know I had hoped to discuss this once I had fed you and gotten a good half a bottle of wine in you.”

“Hmmm an interesting proposition that I will have to decline.” He looked at her, saw the tiredness around her eyes and wondered what had made the fool woman come visit him when she should rightfully be resting. He watched her chest rise and fall with her sigh.  
“You’re going to be stubborn aren’t you?” She didn’t glance at him for affirmation as she nervously chewed on her bottom lip. “In three days time I’m going on another expedition into the Deep Roads. It-“

Fenris growled, looking at her. “No.” He cut her off, knowing it was rude but he wasn’t going to let her do such a blatantly stupid thing.

She raised her eyebrow. “No?”

“I will not allow it.” She smiled at his words. “It isn’t your choice to make Fenris.” She reminded gently, and he wanted to tell her to the Void with that but he held his tongue and thought of something much better to say.

“Then I am coming.”

“Fen-“

“I. Am. Coming.” He looked at her, stubbornness and belligerence emanating from every pore in his body. His green eyes were fierce and the lyrium lines on his skin glowed faintly from the emotions roiling within him. She wouldn’t be able to stop him, she realized, because he would follow her there. Perhaps the only reason he hadn’t gone after her to ‘Orlais’ was that it was Orlais and not a magic boot camp with Flemeth.

“I don’t think I can stop you…can I?”

“Only death.”

“Weelll that settles that, the wardens will simply have to put their big girl panties on and deal. You’re an elf, not a dwarf, and I’m certain Anders will verify that you’re my close friend and personal protector.” His smile was brief at her words, at her acceptance. She would not fall in the dark now, because he was there to protect her. He had…overheard stories from Varric and Aveline, ones he knew he was not meant to hear about her first expedition. She could not face the horrors in the dark alone, she was a mage and mages were delicate things…she was a delicate thing, despite all evidence to the contrary.

She was his mage, and he would be remiss in his care of her if he let her go to the Deep Roads without a trusted sword to keep her safe and untainted. He was still going to kill Anders for this, despite how pitiful the mage had been looking lately, because he was willingly endangering their Hawke for some stupid wardening business.

He took her up to his room, and for a short time it had been their room, where she had slept while waiting to recover. He had watched over her while she slept, making sure he was never too far, always within earshot. Anders had rarely left as well, they had shared the vigil of protecting her, only breaking it once when Fenris had to blame someone for her pain and the man truly responsible was dead. Anders had been easy to blame then, he always was even if it wasn’t necessarily Anders’ fault, and perhaps Anders had also blamed himself.

Setting the basket on the table, taking out the goods she had brought, she set about to gather two chairs and arranging the food he took out of her basket. His fingers lingered over the books at the bottom, her small kindnesses touched him and added balm to his wounded soul. This is why he could never lose her. No one else was like her, no one else _thought_ about him so much. Little knickknacks littered his room, ones he never purchased but needed all the same. Extra pillows, blankets, a worn rug, books, candles. They always just appeared in his home, and while he suspected and sometimes almost accused, he couldn’t prove that it was Hawke. Though he knew it, because some of the items smelled like her when he first got them, she’d never admit to it…and so then it was alright to keep them because they weren’t charity, they were gifts from a…friend.

As per their custom they had no glasses for the wine, he simply uncorked it with his gauntlet and took a sip before handing it to her. It was a peace offering, one she took with that quirked smile of hers. Their meal was silent, no need for useless chatter while they ate together and basked in the company of someone they cared about. When the food was done, the wine bottle half empty, and everything save his books and the bottle were back in her basket did he entertain the thought of breaking their comfortable silence.

“Why are we going into the Deep Roads?”

“Because Carver asked me to go.”

It was perhaps the most logical reason for her to go. She needed no treasure, she had enough adventures to last her a lifetime what with all the children she had to take care of as well as adding their mutual friends…and her very odd professors. She had no need to go into the Deep Roads, but Carver had asked her to go and so Anders’ imminent death didn’t look so imminent.

“He went there with you before, why ask you to join a second time?”

She paused, reaching for the wine bottle and taking a swig. He knew that she needed the alcohol to soothe a hurt she never admitted to having. That she blamed herself for Carver’s recruitment and taint, Varric had told Aveline that one evening when they hadn’t been aware he was hovering at the door, long after Leandra had stopped.

“Because he doesn’t quite remember everything. Maker knows how long he had the blight sickness while we were down there, his memory isn’t good enough, Aveline’s too busy, and they’re only taking one dwarf with us. I’m suspecting because no one, evil spirit taint idol-y thing would try and take Oghren. He smells like a dwarven brewery that is about to be condemned. I suppose he grows on one after prolonged periods of exposure…”

Fenris nodded slightly, his own lips turning up into a smile. “He sounds more like incurable fungal rash than a person.”

“I would suspect that the comparison is not all that inaccurate. My mabari has better hygiene.”

They chuckled together and he watched the flickering candlelight give her skin a warm tone. What he would give to see her only clothed in the warm light and dark shadows. He would touch her, taste her, memorize every curve of her body, every scar and its story. He would kiss away every heartache she had ever born, and in easing her soul, in touching her, he would find his own salvation from the bitter poison of his hate. He wanted to take those glasses off her face, take down her hair and tangle his fingers in it. He wanted her wanton and breathless beneath him.

He wanted her…and somehow he loved her enough to know that he had to wait. He could likely take her now, but it wouldn’t be right. So he harnessed the passion and the need in him, tampered it down and cooled it with a long draught of wine.

“I should go.” She finally said after a few moments of comfortable silence. He wanted to protest, he wanted to keep her here, but he rationalized he would have several weeks with her. He would have her time then.

“I will escort you to the gates of your school.” Her mouth twisted into a wry grin, knowing that if he was escorting her such a short distance that she would not be allowed to put the choker on. His answering look of belligerence and triumph told her he knew it as well. He offered his arm, taking her basket in the other and it took all her good breeding to link her arm with his and not punch him in the chest plate.

When they left his house, she didn’t give a whit to the odd looks she was given being escorted by a fearsome elf. She ignored them, her mask firmly in place, if only a little crooked when she gently tightened her arm around his and he answered in return. Giving her the basket once they made it to the gates, he took her hand and gracefully brushed a ghostly whisper of a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Til we meet again, Lady Hawke.”

He murmured and with wicked delight saw a faint flush creeping upon her cheeks due to the uncharacteristic actions of his chivalry. Her expression remained neutral save for the slightest widening of her eyes, and that beautiful blush.

“Anders and I are going to shop for supplies tomorrow morning. Would you like to come with us?”

Fenris entertained the idea seriously. He would need to go shopping for the expedition, he would need supplies, but as he looked at her he knew he had to decline. Anders would need some time with her, he knew, to draw out a little of that creeping sadness that pervaded the mage’s attitude as of late. Even Fenris had found it hard not to let the despondent melancholy that seeped into him from the knowledge Heretic would never entertain the thought of having anyone as a lover, that Hawke was too far away for him to search out and find, from the nightmarish images that haunted his dreams from the time of getting trapped in the Fade. His cure had already found him and eased the worry, taken away the sadness and the fear for the moment.

Fenris would not admit to feeling concern for his abomination rival, but he felt it nonetheless.

“I will stop by in the late afternoon and ask for your advice; I have some work I must accomplish in the morning.”

Hawke nodded, knowing better not to pry or protest. She also needed the time with Anders, but Fenris would need supplies for going into the Deep Roads. She had learned from the last time, and likely having a warden help her shop would make choosing the items to take so much better.

“Then goodnight Fenris.” She curtsied quickly before slipping in through the gate. Making it into the Academy was easy, dropping off her basket in the kitchen, she went through two piles of necessary paperwork before she dropped exhausted into her bed.

Her dreams were hazy and foreboding and she groaned in emotional pain when she awoke to knocking on her bedroom door. Stumbling out of bed ungracefully, she made her way to her door, opening it as she rubbed one eye and yawned, trying to regain her wits.

“I…uh…Guess when you meant early, you didn’t mean _early_.”

“ _Anders_?”

He stood there in his patched together coat, looking somewhere between tired and mildly panicked. She squinted at him, making sure he was actually there before sighing and reaching out. “Inside, before someone sets you on fire…or stabs you.” He made an inarticulate sound if indignation at the thought that anyone would think he was an intruder intent on harming anyone, or perhaps it was the thought someone would likely attack without question and likely harm the only coat Anders had in his possession.

He came in when she grabbed him and yanked, she was stronger than she looked he found out or perhaps she had caught him off guard. Either way he was very much suddenly in her bedroom, where he hadn’t meant to be at all but the lovely house dwarf pointed him this direction with a very puzzled look on his face, or was it blank? He had trouble figuring that bootstrap boy out. That wasn’t the problem, at all, he was simply trying to distract himself from the fact that Hawke was in a nightdress. It was creamy in color and sheer enough to where he could see the shadows of her…he swallowed hard and looked away distractedly from her chest hoping she didn’t notice his indiscretion and tried not to think of how the gown was indecently short, barely going to her mid thigh and exposing so much of her pale shapely legs. He glanced at her again noticed the pale pink ribbon that rested under her breasts, tied into a bow that practically begged him to unwrap her like a Santanalia gift. Her hair was down and tousled from sleep and she looked so adorably bedraggled like a freshly woken kitten.

No, no, Hawke couldn’t be a kitten because kittens needed to be cuddled and petted, cooed at and kept close while they purred in satisfaction from all the attention and stroking they got.

Maker he needed a drink and the sun hadn’t even risen yet.

“Anders?”

She prompted him again and his suddenly dry mouth found a way to unglue itself, or perhaps his jaw had somehow come back from the Deep Roads. Either way his lost tongue, and Justice’s sheer shock at seeing her so…there were no words only an answering masculine want for this lovely woman.

“You said get here early!” He didn’t care how panicked and accusatory his voice sounded, and he couldn’t bring himself to point out her state of undress because Maker it would kill him if she covered up right now. “I figured that you meant _early_ because it’s never bright in Kirkwall unless something’s on _fire_ and you’re a woman and you needed clothes so I had to add in time for that, and you promised breakfast, and…and-“

Hawke held up a hand while her befuddled mind tried to piece together what Anders had just said. She wasn’t fully awake yet, sentences while not beyond her were a chore to create, she needed coffee, or more sleep, but with Anders looking so adorably embarrassed and two steps away from flailing she decided to take pity on him.

“I just…we’ll need to work on what early is at a later date. I’m up now and just sit on the bed and I’ll get dressed then we can have breakfast and go.” She steered him to her still warm bed, sitting him down on it before she went to her drawers and gathered up the necessary items for dressing. She didn’t notice that he watched her gather her breast band and matching panties, or how his eyes darkened because now he would know exactly what she was wearing underneath her clothes…for an entire day.

She paused at the door to her bathroom, looking back at him. “Mind if I take a quick shower? Might help wake me up more.”

“Uh…take all the time you need, I’ll be here not getting immolated or stabbed.” She smiled at his horrible joke and shut the door behind her. He heard water running and it took him all of two seconds to lay down on her bed, his face in her pillow as he breathed in her scent. It was the same as when she’d gone to the party, all sweet and exotic with that undertone that made him think of beautiful women and Hawke. He lifted his head up, realizing how creepy that was. Righting himself he glanced around the room.

Now that he looked at it, it seemed…lonely. A handful of papers littered a writing desk, there was a cushioned window seat and a plush chair not too far from it, a small table where she likely put a drink while she sat and read. There was an armoire and a chest, a few knickknacks, and a handful of pictures. It was clean, and while it was warm, this room was lonelier than Fenris’ decrepit mansion complete with unrotting corpses. His curiosity got the better of him and he moved from her bed, looking at the pictures.

The first one he spied was that of a younger Hawke, she had flowers woven into her hair, Andraste’s grace if he remembered correctly, and was arm linked with two other girls, a golden eyed girl stood next to her, doing her best to scowl into the camera and hide the smile at the edges on her lips with forget-me-nots woven into her hair, while another girl younger with deep brown eyes had a gardenia tucked behind her ear. They all looked like little fairy children from the stories his mother had once told to him, his finger touched the glass, tracing the curve of Hawke’s cheek and wondering where this smiling happy child went.

He moved to another where a tall man with hastily tied back hair and gold earrings in his ear lifted up a tiny Hawke, the picture was perfect with her arms outstretched as if she was flying and the man was just trying to catch her rather than holding her up. He looked like a scrape and a scoundrel, not at all respectable in the least, but he obviously loved the little Hawke. He was going to assume this was the infamous Malcolm, the man didn’t look like a healer, but to be honest back before Justice he hadn’t looked like much of a healer either. If anything he would say from the picture alone the man looked like a light skinned green eyed version of Isabela if she ever decided to change her sex and wear peasant-y farm clothes.

Then there was a picture of Hawke, younger than when he first met her but obviously in Kirkwall now. She had somehow gotten Carver to give her a piggyback ride and both wore mercenary colors, Varric stood in front of them smirking, and Aveline stood partially to the side wearing a guardsman armor of a lieutenant. Maker she’d been so young, they’d been so young, and free. His finger came up again, feeling his heart ache because Anders was positive he’d never seen her smile like _that_. Not with that abandon and joy for life and all it had to offer, where had she gone? This phantom from the past.

He had taken more time studying those few pictures than he realized because the water shut off and he could hear the faint rustle of moving cloth. Maker Hawke was naked in there. _Naked_. Nothing but a door between them, and really what was a door for mages?

He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment, trying not to remember the dark blue color of her underthings, or the fact she had grabbed a pair of those teasing fishnets that distracted him enough most of the time not to remember how much leg showed. No he needed to think of horrible things, like fire and death and blood and oh what if her clothes caught fire? Then she’d have to take them off and have a very good healer ease the slightly burned skin, he’d have to touch…

 **You disrespect her by thinking such things**

Because having an eternal cockblocking chaperone inside his head had really been a good idea.

Also sexual fantasies never ended well when the first sexy thing to happen was clothes being set on fire to get the other party naked. Really? It was uncomfortable, too much room for error, and why couldn’t it be normal and have him setting upon her like a wild beast and ripping her clothes off like any real man should do. Anders needed to stop reading Isabela’s friend fiction, get something a bit classier to read that didn’t have him envisioning Hawke naked, but honestly even the Chant of light was going to do that to him.

She came out of her bathroom, hair still damp and loose, followed by a misty cloud of floral scented steam. He watched as she walked by him with only a glance and a smile, like it was perfectly normal to have a tall scruffy apostate named Anders in her room watching her get ready for the day. It should be normal, it will have to become normal, because that being normal implied other things being normal, like kissing and touching and other naughty things Justice wasn’t going to let him think about right now.

Hawke sat down on a small cushioned seat, deftly applying makeup on a face that Anders thought she really could do without. She was lovely with her bare face still slightly rosy from the warmth of her shower, her lips that natural dark pink that he knew in his soul would look lovely kiss bitten. Still makeup didn’t make her look ugly, just like her usual self, or her usual mask of icy untouchable perfection. She easily put her hair up, which he thought a small crime against any warm blooded man everywhere but most especially _him_. When she reached for her choker, he didn’t realize until he was behind her and taking it out of her grasp that he had done anything.

“No.” He didn’t care how frighteningly close to Fenris he sounded. He grabbed the choker and hastily stuffed it into a pocket of his coat. “You’re not going to-” He cut himself off before he borrowed one of Fenris’ speeches. “You’re safe and you need to be able to trust me to watch your back. This is an exercise on trust. If you can’t trust me to keep you safe in a civilized city, then how can you trust me to look after you in the Deep Roads?”

Her lips pursed and she got this mildly adorable furrow right between her brows, and her expression was somewhere between a pout and a glare. He felt something akin to pride at having asserted himself with her and somewhat winning the argument…if only because he’d stolen the object they were fighting about.

“Anders-“

“No that tone isn’t going to work on me. Circle trained, was a scoundrel, I got all sorts of disapproving faces and tones and none of them guilted me into changing.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, giving in only because it was important to him. “I’m glad I never had to teach you, you’d likely be scrubbing the floors clean with a toothbrush with only four and a half bristles.”

Anders grinned, the panic gone, the haunted tiredness disappearing from his face and eyes. He looked saucy, and she felt an unexpected jolt in her heart before he came up with his retort. “You could never have taught me, jailbait.” The unexpected flush in her cheeks only stroked his ego and made him happier. “But on the other hand, I could have taught you. Hmmm that would have been interesting, wouldn’t it? I can’t decide if you’d have been the prim and proper rule abiding student or the terrible tease.”

The images that rose up in his mind made Justice burn with abject disapproval. It was like having a sentient conscious, but worse, because he was fairly certain Justice could see all the dark fantasies he had about Hawke. It would be nice, or have been nice, to play that game, have that role reversal. He could remember when he’d been in her imagnitive shoes. Maker he missed Karl, even though the love never bloomed he had cared for the older man a great deal, they’d been good friends…close friends and losing Karl had nearly broke him. He remembered crying into Heretic’s arms, clinging to her like a lifeline, and she had been so _sorry_ for his loss and it had made it worse, her guilt.

“Who says I couldn’t have been both?” Her faint smirk and challenging gaze drew him from his melancholy thoughts faster than if she’d started to unlace the ribbons of her corset. Maker she was a tease and somehow that made her even better. Instant gratification was nice, but working for it, having to earn her touch and favor was even better.

No wonder he was a cat person.

No wonder people he seemed to like always reminded him of cats.

“You evil evil woman.” He muttered, and wondered how she could have hidden from him for so long.

 **You saw the signs and ignored them in favor of clinging to your preconceptions about her. She was wrong to believe we would betray her, but you did nothing to earn her trust. You committed a grave injustice to her.**

Because when he was feeling good about something someone had to bring him down, he only just wished it wasn’t the inconsiderate roommate in his head.

“Mmm Anders didn’t you know? I’m an apostate, and therefore naturally drawn to the ways of sin.” Her sly glance had him envisioning her wearing what Desire demon’s wore. It was the final straw for Justice who sent such a strong wave of righteous anger and disapproval that as his hand went up to his forehead to stave off the pressure he could see a flare of light in the dim room.

“Ah, something I said?” She was surprisingly mellow in her curiosity, not asking what he just did so much as what she had done to cause it. He couldn’t answer that it wasn’t so much saying as not letting him pin her to the bed right now and do all sorts of wicked things to her. They weren’t in the Circle and they weren’t in a brothel, and he had feelings edging towards serious. That meant she deserved respect and at least a modicum of actual honest to Maker courting before sexy times happened.

“No, something someone else said.”

“Ah Justice then, I wonder what you thought about?” Anders was about to reply before his mind stopped, rewound, replayed her last comment then repeated the actions.

“You? How? Who-“ She moved towards him, unafraid of what he was, somehow knowing and just…treating him like she always did. Her finger touched his lips, shushing him, his heart thudding in his chest. Her smile was so…it was wry and welcoming and somehow teasing all at once. This woman was the real one, or mostly real, instead of the ghostly doll who rarely was bothered by anything.

“Justice sought me out, in the Fade.” The fear rose for a moment before she killed it with one fell swoop by simply staying there still smiling still touching him. “He was very gentlemanly.” Her cheeks heated in a blush, and a fragmented ghost of a memory ran through his mind like a strand of a long forgotten dream. He grasped at the fleeting sensation of warmth and lips, before it was snatched away from him by Justice.

“When?”

His mind was grasping at straws while he hastily sketched out a picture of what possibly could have happened. He didn’t try to fight with Justice for the memory, but the lines connected and what he saw made his heart clench.

“Right after you found out I was a mage. He had apparently been looking for me before then, but the collar cut off my ability to dream.”

He kept his teeth from gritting but jealousy bloomed. She had kissed Justice. It wasn’t hard to figure that out, especially since Justice didn’t dream and he had become more…enamored with Lady Hawke. Why had she kissed Justice? Not when she had flesh and blood men willing to kiss her and hold her?

 **I kissed her. I held her because even I had fear that she would never have recovered. I am not like you, I cannot interact with her like you. Seeking particular dreamers in the Fade is a difficult task unless they are physically nearby or they are tied to us in some magical manner. She needs more than the love of a spirit, but can you honestly say that you can give that to her?**

He could understand Justice’s point, to love a woman but never have the chance to touch her, or hold her, but to gaze at her afar through another man’s eyes must be torture. It must have been worse for Justice seeing her covered in blood, clinging to life, their magic unable to reach her and knowing that if they didn’t keep pouring poultices down her throat that she’d die and he would have failed her. What would it have meant, all this power and knowledge, if he had let her die.

Still Anders took her wrist, pulling her forward and pressing his lips to her gently. “The next time, sweetheart, you’re going to kiss me.” He whispered, enjoying the play of emotions across her face, how the blush took over her entire face. If he was still the man he had been, he would have ignored his previous statement and taken those lips again as his own, drinking from her like a starving man. He had hated her before, for not just leaving him alone, for poking at his ideals and for helping him. He had fallen for her almost at the same time as Heretic, and there were days he could almost see a similarity between them. Yet they weren’t the same at all.

Her heart thudded in her chest for a moment, shocked into stillness by the gentle brush of his lips against hers, the faint rasp of his stubble on her face. His words brought about an ache in her, tearing at a wound she had made herself that she did her best to keep hidden from the world. From him, from Fenris.

“Maybe.” Her voice had lost its teasing edge, a little softer, and she knew she couldn’t hide her inexperience. She was a good actress, a good liar until a certain point. Maker save her if anyone save Isabela tried to kiss her as Heretic. She took in a short breath, and her embarrassment burst forth. She could move again, and looking down she stepped by him.

“No one except Sandal should be up right now. Follow me, I’ll make us breakfast.” She didn’t see his smile, but heard him follow her. She could practically feel his curiosity as they went through the Academy, past the staff rooms, down the stairs and through the great hall. When they made it to the kitchen, she only glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, feeling flustered and flushed because he was looking at her.

She didn’t make conversation and he didn’t try to force it. He watched as she found an apron, some white frilly thing that should look ridiculous but somehow ended up being adorable, and put it on. For a woman who had a small army of servants at her beck and call she was surprisingly comfortable in the kitchen. He realized the moment she forgot he was there, when her lumbering mabari came into the room sitting by her and whining quizzically. She smiled at the beast, with an affection that she had never shown him yet, absently reaching over and turning on the radio switching it to a music station.

The silence was gone and soon it was filled with the sounds of movement and music, the delicious smells of food. He saw eggs and bacon, his stomach rumbling but not loud enough to announce his presence to her. He usually hated being ignored by his friends or objects of affection, he tried his best to be the center of their world, but right now he was content with being a satellite in orbit.

“While in the merry month of May from me home I started,  
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted,  
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother,  
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,  
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,  
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins;  
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs  
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Denerim.”

His mouth dropped open as he heard her voice joining with the one on the radio. Her head tilted to the side as she sang, and as she turned her head to her blasted dog he caught her smile. It was bright and beautiful, unchained, unhidden, open and free. She was giving it to her dog, who whuffed and bounced around her as she sang, her body moving along with the music in an adorable half dance. The moved together like loons, Hawke and her mabari, as she danced in front of the stove making what looked to be the most sinful pancakes in the world.

This is what mornings should be like. Watching her slowly move from asleep to awake. Seeing her vulnerable and befuddled with sleep, to this lovely woman who wasn’t nearly as composed and mature as she liked to pretend to be. Honestly, how mature could one be when they sang to their mabari? Certainly some maturity was gained when singing to a cat, but a dog honestly couldn’t appreciate the finer points of music. Especially music that would have been popular during her parents time as teens.

This dance, this song, was choreographed from years of silliness together, he could imagine. He could see her in the kitchen, young like the picture he had spied in her bedroom, bouncing around some shabby hovel of a kitchen with a puppy at her heels as awkward and uncoordinated as she was. Her black hair in braids and ribbons, looking pretty and scrappy and full of life.

Their children would do this one day, though hopefully they would inherit better sense than their mother and pick cats. He would get to see them, because he wasn’t just going to have one child he needed a brood of them, dance around like silly geese and laugh and smile and sing much much more off tune than their mother who would likely lead them. Maybe her mother had taught her this? No Leandra didn’t seem the type, so it must have been Malcolm to do this with her, to dance around and sing along with songs.

Good man Malcolm, for giving his daughter something warm and silly to keep close and hold onto even when she was becoming a woman.

The song ended and she giggled, a lovely girlish sound that he was going to make sure he made her make often. Everyone woman needed to be able to giggle like a young circle girl, just like they still needed to be able to blush, look shy and coy all at once. It didn’t matter if they were twenty or two hundred and twenty, keeping a little bit of a girl inside their hearts kept old age at bay. Which really only set in after you learned to stop having fun.

She made enough food for four mundane people, she barely made enough for two wardens, but about the right amount for a warden and a mage. It was ridiculously hard to get fat when one specialized in any particular fighting skill set and remained active in it. Mages almost never got fat if they cast on a regular basis and moved around at all. Wardens never did. Still the poor regular folk, the ones who did normal jobs, did normal things, would have been boggled by the amount of food she made. Anders couldn’t help but grin, his girl definitely knew her stuff.

She served herself first, a wise lady who had obviously shared meals with wardens before, and let Anders take the rest. Even if he wasn’t a half starved apostate who lived in the sewers, he would have set upon his food with the same enthusiasm he was right now. It wasn’t gourmet, it wasn’t fancy…well the pancakes could be considered that with the cinnamon and chocolate chips all warm melty and good, but it was homemade and it was good, fantastic even because someone had made it for him.

They ate in silence, and he didn’t mind that she had a faint hint of a blush on her cheeks. _This_ was freedom, _this_ is what he fought for. Two awkward people having breakfast at an ungodly hour, sharing glances and half smiles over the food, with a dog under the table begging for scraps and no templars watching over them, no fear, nothing except this moment and them. Perhaps in another lifetime he could have Heretic, take off her mask, see her secrets…but this was just as good. It wasn’t a consolation prize, just the road he would have given Fenris if Anders had had another option.

They put their dishes in the sink, running water over everything. He could see how Hawke wanted to stay, wanted to clean up more, but the mental reminder that her servants would likely feel put out for not being able to do anything for her made her leave the dishes with an apologetic note.

Leaving the academy wasn’t hard, Hawke spoke gently with Sandal and the man-boy smiled up at her nodding enthusiastically with her instructions. Barkspawn followed them, and Anders found he didn’t mind that so much because Hawke was by his side. He watched her mask fall into place, and it didn’t bother him so much, because they were out in public and public wasn’t safe. It never would be for his lovely Hawke, and that knowledge burned something hateful and hot in the shared space between his mind and Justice’s.

Their morning passed in a blur, the shopkeepers always falling over themselves to supply the best for Hawke. Conversation was clipped, jabs thrown back and forth at each other each playing a role that had once been natural what seemed like eons ago but now seemed to be strained and off kilter. He couldn’t hate her like he once did. He felt like an actor in a play and wondered how Hawke could stand it, could stand there looking so calm and composed. It was perhaps her ability to control herself, to act one way and truly be another that kept her off the radar. He’d never known of another apostate outside the Dalish to be able to hide for so long.

He noticed that certain items she bought three of, blankets, rations, other little items that he pointed out were useful to have in the Deep Roads. He needn’t ask who they were to be for; Anders knew that Fenris would never let Hawke go to the Deep Roads without him. There he had foes he could defend her against, that he could unsheathe his sword and stand between her and danger. He had no skill, no position, to protect her politically. This was a chance to prove his worth to her, and so he would go.

The day passed, and despite their early start, the shared lunch and dinner together in the town. She didn’t take him to the Hanged Man, clearly stating with a look that she was going for food, not company or alcohol and that when those two things were taken out of the equation the Hanged Man was not a suitable place for sustenance. Barkspawn, the decent sport he was…being a third wheel and a dog even complied with sitting outside and waiting for their meals to finish.

When they finally wandered back to the gates, Anders should have been surprised to see Fenris there. The elf with his spiky armor that honestly said a great deal about his personality, the broadsword that on anyone else Anders would have said he was compensating for something, white hair and lyrium tattoos. Yes, he should have been surprised, but he wasn’t.

Fenris watched her walking, Anders carrying the majority of the supplies but Lady Hawke still held some bags. He could see her mask, but her throat was blessedly bare, and some of the tension in his body bled away. The mask melted when she came closer, her smile almost breaking through, eyes warm and genuinely happy to see him.

“Fenris.”

“Lady Hawke…Anders.”

“Fenris.”

They exchanged greetings, and even the usual spite between the two men was lessened. Fenris looked at Hawke, his eyes catching hers in a display of brazenness that he would never have been allowed as a slave. Her smile just became clearer, and he wanted to ask, no demand that she go with him and help him find supplies.

Then she held out her bags to him and he glared for a moment, before taking them from her. Her smile only grew. “Those are the necessities that the Wardens aren’t likely to provide.” She hadn’t forgotten him. She had bought everything he had needed, thought of him even while she was with Anders. The tall apostate looked better, which was good because he wasn’t about to have his other mage break apart completely. He had thought on it, contemplated his life now and the people in it, and contemplated his feelings, his affections.

He owned them, these two mages before him. He was enthralled by Heretic, wanted her, needed her in some ways, but she was like a ghostly dream. Barely tangible, never satisfying, and would never fulfill him if he did have her. He would not deny his want to himself, that disease that was as bitter as his hate but sweeter than any candy he had ever tasted. She would be empty and hollow, because she had too many secrets, how could a woman like that who ran the streets of Kirkwall looking for the worst of the worst, fighting a war that likely could never be won have anything left in her for relationships and love? How could she unmask herself without endangering everyone around her?

Yet Lady Hawke was different. She was like a cool cup of water to his parched throat, a balm to the aching wounds on his soul. She had her secrets, but she had more than that inside her. He could tell, he had seen those snippets even when she had collared herself. She was independent, she was a fighter, a noblewoman, and somehow fragile enough that she’d still need him. She needed him and he would be there for her, his lovely mage.

Anders…it was hard to describe how he viewed Anders. They were almost like oil and water, the man could be pig headed, rash, stubborn, foolish and dangerous. He also ran a free clinic in Darktown, ran after Heretic more often than not helping her on her mad crusade to save Kirkwall, and did other various helpful things. They were rivals in a way, for the affections of the women they both admired, in their beliefs, but their animosity had morphed into a grudging respect. Fenris would never feel pity for the Tevinter mages, or perhaps mages in general…but these two weren’t mages, they were his mages and that made all the difference in the world. Anders was his rival, his equal, if Fenris didn’t watch out for him who knows what would happen to the ridiculously tall apostate. Lady Hawke’s influence only went so far, and protecting Anders as she did only put her in danger. They needed Fenris to protect them from Meredith.

“…Thank you.”

Her smile made his resolve to protect her harden. Fenris would never allow anything to take her away, not the Deep Roads, not Meredith, not even another man.

“You’re welcome Fenris.” She took some bags from Anders, practically having to wrestle them out of the older man’s hands. “I’ll see you when we gather for the expedition. I have got a great deal of paperwork to get through before I can leave.”

Anders frowned at her words, he could see her now sitting by candlelight in that room of hers going through papers. It couldn’t be good for her, working so hard, and if he could see another way he would have managed to fight her from going on this expedition. The Wardens had lied to her; they hadn’t asked Aveline to come. Varric hadn’t been asked to come for obvious reasons, not with Bartrand’s reaction, his insanity. Who knew what repeated exposure would do to the dwarf? Oghren was coming because he had seniority, right under the Commander, and frankly what sort of evil entity would even try to sway Oghren to its side?

The Commander had sent him a letter, one that he had nearly burned in his anger. He had known while Hawke was away in Orlais that they were going to take her with them. That his only reprieve from an immediate trip to the Deep Roads was the fact that Lady Hawke was in Orlais and incommunicado, this expedition, these dark foreboding thoughts were going to happen one way or another.

Hawke was more important than even another Warden, Velanna had been spared only because Hawke had bargained for her. He needed to talk with her about that, about knowing another Warden and not telling him, about employing Velanna. What on earth could Velanna teach that wasn’t crazy? The Dalish hated humans almost as much as Fenris hated mages, and Hawke didn’t seem the type of person to let anyone get away with prejudice in a classroom.

He took his supplies with him to his clinic, setting them in his back room he took out the Commander’s letter again. Rereading it, trying to think of some way that he could get out of this, that he could get Hawke out of this.

 _Dear Anders,_

 _It has been far too long since we have seen each other face to face. Perhaps one day, when these nobles can go to the crapper without needing me to show them the way, I can come visit you in Kirkwall. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Seeing that hovel you’ve holed yourself up in. Perhaps I can bring presents, and now that you’re not a ‘warden’ I can bring Pounce? That should make you happy._

 _On a less happy and friendly note, as your Commander I am ordering you to go on this expedition into the Deep Roads. You’re the most talented healer I know and you will make sure that all of our men come back relatively whole. I am also aware that you are in close acquaintance with Warden Hawke’s sister, Lady Hawke. Your presence is required to also help put her at ease, since she is also going to be accompanying this expedition._

 _I do not know how much you truly know of Lady Hawke, and from what little Warden Hawke is willing to tell me I shall give you the picture that has been presented to me. Lady Hawke is a remarkable fighter and a strong enough mage to where Warden Hawke believes she would win in a battle between us. Lady Hawke has had contact with the Witches of the Wilds, and knows a few of their magics though it has been continuously pressed that while his sister is ‘an insufferable bitch’ she would never turn to dark magics even in a pinch as ‘she would rather charge an ogre head on and tear it apart with her hands than use even one filthy blood magic spell’. What magic she had learned Warden Hawke has been stubbornly silent about as ‘it would never help the order and you’re not recruiting my sister to find out’ but as having once been the companion and friend of a Witch of the Wilds I have a good idea of what magic she has hidden up her sleeve._

 _This thaig is older than any dwarven record, and if it was forgotten the Order needs to know why. Lady Hawke was chosen as the guide for two important reasons, firstly she is the only companion who went into the who has a complete memory of the place as Warden Hawke says that in letters Lady Hawke has sent him she mentions that the other two companions a Varric Tethras and an Aveline Vallen have curious holes in their memory that cannot be explained away. The second reason is because the Veil is thin there, demons and ancient spirits prowl the depths and Lady Hawke will be able to confront and resist them, perhaps even the lingering magic or spell that has caused the others memories to dim. She is essential, for if it is found that even full Wardens cannot resist this memory altering property of the Thaig, then the only one who can give a full record of the events and finds will be Lady Hawke._

 _I can tell now that you are going to be unhappy with me, you are going to disapprove of my methods but this is important. I swear to you that is true, that I would not ask for anyone not in the Order to risk their lives in such a way. Especially a woman. I do not need to tell you what will need to be done should the worst come to pass, or if she contracts the blight sickness. Forgive me old friend if you feel I am wronging you, or her, with this._

 _I eagerly await word of your safe return and that this mission was a fool’s errand and there is nothing in the Thaig worth investigating._

 _Yours,_

 _Commander Julien Amell of the Gray Wardens in Fereldan_

He was trapped and Lady Hawke was too, she had given her word to her brother and somehow that seemed more binding to Anders than the taint running through his veins. He almost wished he wasn’t honorable, that Justice would let him go to Fenris and ask the elf to kidnap Hawke and never let her return because the Deep Roads weren’t a place for anyone. Yet, the Commander managed bring out the better nature in him, and he knew without a doubt that Julien would never ask a civilian, one who was in an odd way family to go.

So he passed the days in worry, grateful Heretic still hadn’t shown her face yet after telling him that they could never be. He made poultices, made sure that he had everything he could think of and a little more. He checked with Nathaniel and made sure that he had the ingredients for the Joining, a necessary precaution one they hoped they’d never have to use on Lady Hawke.

When the morning came for their departure Hawke stood at the ready outside the city’s walls with Fenris and Barkspawn by her side. She had already placed her pack in the cart, staff hidden underneath all the items. She wore not her usual clothing, nor did she don her costume. She had found something older and far better suited for traipsing about the Deep Roads. Hawke smiled faintly at the recognition in Carver’s eyes when he came up to her, she had worn this in the Deep Roads before, and even before that he had seen it on his father. She looked like a mercenary in all the black leather and pieces of light armor that looked well worn and dependable. She looked like a different woman to all except Carver, who only smiled slightly and nodded in recognition.

It was too early for banter, and Hawke drifted easily towards her brother. Their silence was companionable, and as each step was taken away from Kirkwall, a link from the chain binding her there was broken. He watched with a knowing eye as tiny layers of her mask peeled away and he saw the person who hid beneath the moniker Hawke, the sibling he knew would watch his back better in the Deep Roads than any of his warden companions.

He had met the Hero of Fereldan, his cousin, Julien Amell. He knew, had seen, how impressive the skirt wearing magey could be in a fight. His sister was better. Moirae was a force of nature, she was a different class of mage, of person. It irked him still that she was so…her, that she existed somewhere above him without even trying. He was better than everyone else he’d ever met, except her. He was bigger, taller, stronger, had more stamina than any other person excepting her. Well metaphorically speaking. It would be even worse if Moirae was physically those things, no one would be making puppy eyes at her like that weird tattooed elf or the almost abomination.

He was going to have _words_ with them, because Moirae might be stronger, but she was Moirae and therefore truly and utterly inept in romance. She was also his sister, a pretty sister, who he’d seen cry more times over boys and girls than he’d ever want to recount. Only Carver could make her cry, no one else, because he had that right as her brother. Family could be bitchy with each other because they were family, and she knew in the end that his bitter words were his only awful way of showing that he cared. She might be older, but he was the boy, he had to be stronger so he could protect her and it was unfair that she was stronger because how could he keep her safe?

“You needn’t look so worried Carver.” Her voice was quiet, kind, and teasing as she easily looped her arm with his. She was always touching him, and if she wasn’t touching him then he always sought her out. It had happened the first time in the Deep Roads, unsettling, dark, looming over them and ready to swallow them whole. He’d never gotten over it, this instinctual fear of the deep. He could see by the wariness in her eyes and her constant glances at the elf and the magey to constantly make sure that they were still with them that neither had she.

“I wouldn’t look worried if you didn’t give me something to worry about sister.” She smiled at him, a ghostly version of the placating smile Bethany often wore when they were fighting. Carver knew she would have followed him and Sigrun to the warden base if he had wanted it. She had wanted to, but he had wanted to find his own way. He had wanted to stand on his own, how stupid he had been to realize that standing on his own meant that he wasn’t going to be there to help protect her.

“Shush, I can take care of myself.” She leaned her head against him, affectionately headbutting his shoulder like some woman shaped cat. He glared at her before looking away, sighing because it was all he could do.

“I’m worried about you Moirae.” He whispered quietly, making sure that the others couldn’t hear him. “Mother’s hinted at what you’re doing. If you get caught they won’t let you even have the option of Tranquility. Not with the amount of Templars you’ve killed.”

“Carver I would rather die than be Tranquil.” Her voice was firm despite its lowered volume. She looked at him, all force and wild magic dancing beneath her skin ready to be unleashed in a deadly wave. “Every templar I have killed has either a) gone after me with intent to kill, b) gone after a non-blood mage with intent to kill, or c) abused their templar powers on the mages in their care.” She ticked off her reasons with her fingers and did nothing to set his mind at ease.

“I won’t let them take you sister.” She snorted softly at his words, her lips in a smile that was wry. He was starting to hate that city more and more. It was killing her, it was choking the life out of her and running her down til likely there would be nothing left.

“You can’t promise that Carver, you’re a warden now and for all you complain you love it. You have your duty, and that duty isn’t to be my nanny.”

“Someone needs to look out for you, besides Varric and Des.”

Moirae looked up at him, then glanced pointedly at Fenris and Anders. “They already are, and I fear that there’s nothing I can do to stop them.”

Carver looked at them too. “Fine, but if you get hurt I’m going to _kill_ them and if they like you as much as they seem to with all their ogling then they’ll let me do it.”

Moirae laughed, and that sound made the entire party look at her. Very rarely did anyone laugh in the Deep Roads, and hearing a woman do so was nearly unheard of. She was different here in the Deep Roads, than she had been at her school, at Fenris’ home or the Clinic. Standing next to Carver, Anders could almost see the girl from the pictures and he wondered why it was here that she appeared.

It was after three days of travel and small skirmishes, when they had set up camp that Anders had his first opportunity to talk with Hawke. They had the middle watch, and as they sat together on the outside edge of the camp Anders glanced at her.

“Your school, it’s for apostates isn’t it?”

She glanced at him surprised, and the unguarded expression on her face told him that he was right. There was a mixture of respect and resentment he felt. She had been tied with Heretic all along, she was the shadow partner, the one behind the scenes. All the times she had said something to him, supporting templars or the circle, she had been doing it to escape suspicion. She had been doing it not for herself, but for the children under her care.

“Yes.” She ventured carefully, watching his expression. One wrong move, one misstep and she would shut him out. He knew it, he knew that she would never let him closer if she thought it would endanger those she had taken in to protect.

He was silent for a long moment. “How?”

“Everyone at the school knows, the servants, the staff. Almost everyone is trained magically who has a position of power, and the handful that aren’t can easily take care of themselves. I have more than a handful of very very wanted apostates in my ranks and keeping. People who I cannot let anyone know are there.”

She had drawn a line for him, he could ask, but no names would be given. He may even never see these shadowy professors or students, the fewer who knew a face existed the better. Still it hurt that he couldn’t know these things, that he couldn’t share her burdens.

“What do you teach them?”

Hawke smiled at him for a moment then looked into the dark. He studied her profile, the curves and angles of her face, and as the shadows played tricks he almost found it familiar.

“I teach them how to be upstanding apostates. We train them in magic, we have to emphasize magic, but we teach ethics, physical training so if a student gets caught they have something to rely on besides magic. We give them an education that would allow them to become anything they’d ever want to be. Just because someone has magic doesn’t necessarily mean they want to use it, I know I have at least four students who want to be in the Guard. A few want to become shop owners, others want to stay and teach.”

“Do you have any healers?”

“Yes, you see the children with a predisposition for healing in your clinic.” Anders felt his heart stutter, the children who helped him out, the ones who wrapped bandages or helped with minor ailments magic needn’t be used for, they were all apostates. All of them, those smiling laughing ragtag bunch of misfits, had been apostates. She had trusted him, had relied on him to secretly show those children how to be a healer, how to do good. He had been teaching and he hadn’t even known. “They’re under strict orders never to use magic there, and they’ve all obeyed, but they need to see why they’re learning what they’re learning. To see if they want to do what you do.”

“You-”

She didn’t look at him. “I do this for my own reasons. For painful private reasons.” Bethany’s face haunted her, her father’s, countless mages that had needed help but never got it, for the faces of the mages’ victims that died or had their lives ruined. If she could help them, if she could sow the seeds for a better future for not just mages but for everyone…it would be worth it, this painful lonely life.

“You don’t need to do this alone.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“I don’t Anders.” Her voice was soft as she leaned into his body. “I just can’t let you in, it isn’t safe. It never will be safe.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of their watch and sat in silence. Watching over the camp, and as they kept their duty, Fenris kept his, watching his mages through long lashes. One day he would see that Hawke knew she was safe, that she needn’t fear anything. He would tell her that now, if he wasn’t supposed to be sleeping, if he hadn’t listened in to a private conversation between her and Anders.

As hours passed, that turned into more days in the dark tunnels, they grew closer to their destination. The closer they got the more numerous the darkspawn and other tainted creatures that infested the deep dark became. Time was not measured by usual means, it was counted by sweat and blood, by markings on the wall he never would have noticed except Hawke looked for them and told them how close they were.

The Wardens fought like a cohesive unit, all except Carver, who broke away from them to join his sister, Fenris, and Barkspawn. Fenris was a warrior by trade, but he had to admit, quietly to himself that the Hawkes were exceptional. What he had heard from Anders of her skill with a staff martially was an understatement when she let her magic free. It was familiar, the way she ran into danger, how she was right beside him and seemed to know when to duck and dodge out of the way. It was almost like they had fought together before, except her anticipation of his moves were nothing to what she did with Carver.

They were a single entity on the battlefield; they complemented each other in such a frightening way that Fenris knew he would never have survived facing them. They didn’t even need to look at each other to know where the other would be, or the think of the spell she would use. He almost felt like he was hindering them, if it weren’t for the fact that darkspawn corpses kept piling up and no one was dead. She was beautiful wreathed in fire and ice, not a mage but a beautiful goddess of death. They could not stand in her path, and she swept them from her gaze like he would sweep ants from a table.

He was feeling haughty, nothing could take them down. Pride cometh before the fall, a wise saying that Fenris didn’t know its origins but felt it was apropos in this moment as he stared into the predatory eyes of a dragon.

He’d never seen a live dragon before.

Hesitation cost him a precious few moments whereas the entire party jumped into motion. It was huge, a monstrous creature that reeked of taint and death. The scales it had were a dark purple, almost black, and they looked odd in the sickly red light of the tainted lyrium.

“It’s bigger than the first one, Carver!”

“It’s tainted!”

“Think we can bring back its head to mount in the foyer? Mother would _love_ it.”

“IT’S TAINTED!”

“Is that a no?”

“ **IT’S TAINTED!** ”

Their banter was insane in the face of the beast, her laughter somehow easing his spirit. She darted around the monster, throwing spell after spell at it. She was nimble in a way that Fenris usually only associated with rogues, she tumbled and leapt, evading the beast. The Wardens picked at it, taking little bits and bites of its health to nibble it to death. The battle, while it seemed to look like a long affair would be easy.

Then they came from the corners, swarming their party like oversized lizard locusts. His attention turned from the dragon to the dragonlings, hacking at them. He didn’t know until they’d been backed into corners, Ogrhen and Nathaniel unconscious or dead, Anders at his back and glowing ominously while Carver, Barkspawn, and Hawke stood fighting across from them.

She was bloody, wounded, panting hard as she stared at the dragon with a murderous look in her eyes. Her lungs burned, her body ached, and as she downed a lyrium potion a plan formed in her mind. It was mad, more than mad, it was utterly suicidal and insane but as the dragon turned it’s gaze towards Fenris and Anders it solidified her resolve.

“Carver!” She barked and he didn’t even glance at her, though she knew she had his attention. “Remember the utterly insane plan that we said we’d never do ever again after we killed the ogre that killed Bethy?”

“Yes.” He gritted out, hacking the head off a dragonling. He didn’t glance at her, and little else needed to be said after her: “Let’s do it again.”

If he ever had doubt about her sanity she was certain they were gone now. It was one thing to do this to a ogre, another with a dragon surrounded by its evil blight ridden children.

She whistled to Barkspawn, signaling him to distract the dragonlings while she strapped her staff to her back. Carver threw down his sword for a second, spinning on his heel. He grabbed her, no time for finesse or gentleness as he hefted her into the air. With a roar he threw her, hurtling her towards the dragon’s back. She landed hard, almost impaled by the spikes on the tainted beast, but she grabbed hold of it.

“Yippee-ki-yay motherfucker!” She screamed, holding on for dear life. It roared, rearing back and flapping its great wings and lifting them into the air. She could hear the twin horrified shouts of Fenris and Anders, Carver’s battle cries as he hacked at the dragonlings. She gritted her teeth.

 _Never use this in the Deep Roads_

Flemeth’s voice echoed in her head, and she would have heeded the old witch if she currently hadn’t been riding a dragon. Her heartbeat raced for a moment then slowed as she gathered her strength and mana, praying that the spell would save them as Flemeth had insinuated it would when encountering dragons. She hoped it worked for tainted ones.

“Win dain a lotica  
En val tu ri  
Si lo ta  
Fin dein a loluca  
En dragu a sei lain  
Vi fa-ru les shutai am  
En riga-lint.”

Her voice was shakey at first, panicked as the spell song left her lips and the room they were in shook. The lyrium screamed, the dragons wailed, the Wardens roared, and in the distant reaches a wolf howled.

“Win chent a lotica  
En val turi  
Silota  
Fin dein a loluca  
Si katigura neuver  
Floreria for chesti  
Si entina”

The dragon dropped like a stone and she held on, magic flowing through her in a destructive all consuming river. It radiated out of her in pulsating wave, washing the entire room in white light. She would have screamed if she had it in her, the power and pain combining in a way that made it feel as if her soul was being torn apart.

“Lalala... Fontina Blu Cent  
De cravi esca letisimo  
Lalala... De quantian  
La finde reve”

The words flowed out of her, now unbidden, the spell once started unable to be stopped. Her mind focused on her wish, to save her companions from their almost inevitable death at the jaws of dragons.

“Win dain a lotica  
En vai tu ri  
Si lo ta  
Fin dein a loluca  
En dragu a sei lain  
Vi fa-ru les shutai am  
En riga-lint.”

For a shining moment she saw a castle surrounded by gardens and fountains, the white stone ethereal in its color. A woman stood, her hand held out, palm facing outwards as her other hand rested on a scepter. Her hair was black and glossy, like raven’s wings, and her face indistinct.

“Eljön majd.”

Hawke reached out to her, as she was thrown back, a scream bubbling up in her throat. It broke and burst as she found herself in the cave, thrashing wildly in Carver’s grip, his eyes a frightening misty white.

“You cannot save her.”

A voice came from her right, and for a moment she saw a wolf, then an elf, a wolf, then it settled on an elf with a wolf’s shadow. Green eyes gleamed in the darkness and too sharp teeth were revealed in a wicked smile. Fenris snarled, standing between them, lyrium brands flaring, but the wolf elf just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and in a blink was passed Fenris and beside her.

“A foolish girl, a powerful girl.” His touch made her arch for a moment, blood welling up in her mouth and she choked as bones snapped into place and her body rearranged itself inside. “A curious girl, to stay so long even after you’ve torn your soul. I like you, curious thing.”

He murmured to himself, staring at her. He was disconcerting and ancient like Flemeth, a creature who had seen too much and had lost pieces of itself during the long walk from birth to now. It looked familiar, somehow, but an aching wrongness in her body, mind, and mana kept her from looking too closely.

“You cannot save her, she will never be whole, and she will waste away into nothingness.”

He looked away from her to Carver, then to Fenris, Anders, and the two other Wardens who had woken up. Their eyes were eerie, a milky white that seemed to glow, save Fenris whose body glowed.

“Can you?”

Anders asked, wary as he came over to her, sitting next to the man and touching her arm.

“Perhaps, but there is a price you cannot pay and a ritual you might fear.”

He squeezed her hand. His eyes determined as he looked at the stranger.

“Who can pay the price?”

“None of you, because alone you have nothing worth to give that equals what she’s lost…is losing as we speak. You can feel it, can’t you? Your spirit knows, feels her soul bleeding, her magic waning. She will suffer more than the Tranquil mages you fear.” He paused for a moment, dark hair obscuring his gaze as he looked at Anders.

“Perhaps…” He trailed off, amused and musing all at once. “The price can be paid, but are you willing to do what is nessecary?” He looked at Anders then his gaze slid to Fenris. “Together you can save her, if you can bear to part with other things held dear.”

Fenris stepped forward, wary and angry. “What do you ask?”

“Leave us.” The wolf elf ordered the others, waving his hand and watching amused as they disappeared. Fenris balked, hand going towards his sword but the other snapped his fingers and it was gone, as well as the corpses of the dragons.

“Sacrifice your grand catalyst, the spark to ignite the fires of revolution. Sacrifice what little freedom you have left, the freedom of choice of a future you cannot attain and trap yourself in a certainty that you cannot escape lest you want her to wilt and die.” The creature stared at Anders as the man paled, hand tightening its grip on Hawke’s arm. “It is all you can give, because you have little else inside.”

It turned its gaze to Fenris. “Sacrifice your freedom. Sacrifice your illusions of normalcy and accept a curse in your blood that you will pass on to all your children and their children. Sacrifice your solitude and the future you might have had and accept a war that you never wished to fight.” Its gaze lingered on the elf’s face, as if memorizing his features. “You have more to give, but not enough alone.”

“Don’-“ Hawke got out a feeble protest that was silenced not by the creature, but by Anders. He pressed a finger to her lips. The white in his eyes fading now.

“He’s not a demon.” Anders said softly, and he knew better than all of them the danger of making deals with spirits, even those who were friends. He looked at Fenris, stiff and angry, confused and worried.

“Anders, is what he said true? Is she…” At Anders’ nod, Fenris cursed and moved closer to her. He looked at her eyes, pained, watching as it seemed the color started to bleed out from her or was it his world that was draining of color knowing that she was dying from a wound Anders couldn’t even touch?

“I accept.” His voice was hoarse and gravelly, and he could feel the weight of his words settling around him. He didn’t know what the creature meant, at this point he didn’t care. Losing Hawke would mean losing every little thing he had fought for, and if he went back into slavery for this then so be it if it meant he could stay by her side.

“I too accept.” Anders’ voice was quiet, and he watched as tears started leaking out of Hawke’s eyes. He gently wiped them away. The creature nodded, watching the scene with interested eyes.

“Then I will keep her here, caught between moments, while we prepare the ritual. You make camp, build a fire do not let her help more than is necessary, she will need what little energy she has left to complete this. You…” His gaze lingered on Fenris again, like the elf was a curiosity that he couldn’t quite make out. “Follow me, to accept your curse.”

Hawke sat up shakey and pale, then got up with the help of Anders. She watched worriedly as Fenris followed the creature, her gaze lingering on its flickering shadow. She watched as Fenris held out his hand, palm upward, watched as the creature took out a knife cutting his hand then doing the same with his own. Its blood dripped down, onto Fenris’ cut, and she knew the moment the curse took in the lyrium brands on Fenris’ skin flaring.

A sense of uneasy nausea set in. Wondering, with a growing sense of panic, why it was here, what it really was doing. She could have accepted death, she hadn’t meant to nearly die but she had been ready. There would have been regrets, but life was always full of them and she doubted if given ten years she would resolve her problems.

She built the fire but let Anders lit it. Glancing at Fenris, who knelt on the floor, clawing and gasping. She wanted to go to him, wanted to soothe him, but each time she moved towards him even a fraction the creature would look at her. No, she couldn’t interfere no matter how much she wanted to.

It felt like an eternity until Fenris stood up on shaky legs, breathing hard but slowly growing stronger. By the time they made it back to the makeshift camp, it looked as if nothing had happened, except the telltale cut on his hand.

“This will not be the first blood shared tonight, ai sgiathatch.” The elf wolf gazed at her, and her belligerent gaze amused him. “It will not be the most intimate thing either.”

“Wait what?” At her panicked question it barked out a laugh. “So fearless and brave in the face of all things except this, your fear of courtship is usually a fear reserved for dragons.”

“Nononono, what do you mean by intimate? We’re going to sit and braid each other’s hair, or cuddle, or-or…” She was flustered and flailing and things were not, could not be heading in the direction she thought they were. Her breathing started to pick up and she knew she was about to bolt, about to run, when arms wrapped around her securely and pulled her back against a firm chest.

“What is the ritual?” Anders asked, keeping his hold on Hawke. He could feel her panic, her unease, and Maker knew he didn’t want her scared. He didn’t want her to die either.

“An ancient one.” The creature looked at Hawke with what almost looked like compassion. “It will bind your lives together, it requires sacrifice, blood, and…”

“Sex.” Fenris added flatly, watching Hawke pale at the word. “I have heard of such rituals in Tevinter, it is close to blood magic.”

“Even I know the dangers of that.” The creature smiled, feral and sharp. “Of all the dangers you face, the long roads you will walk, this is a trail you are not stepping on.” It looked at them all, peeling away masks and lies to see the truth, the trick of them.

“If I could, ai sgiathatch, I would have given you another way to live.” The elf wolf said quietly, sincere in his regret. He looked at the men. “Exchange blood with her, take her, within two hours time or my magic will wear off and then nothing will save her. If you try to get out of the bargain, the magic will unravel and she will die. It should be about three hours until your companions find you again.” He gave them the instructions, the timelines, and moved as if to walk away.

“Will she be cursed as well?” Fenris asked before the creature departed. “No, only your children will inherit this curse, utinu. Just as she will not take your taint, Warden.” Then it was gone, like a shadow, and Hawke tried to struggle out of Anders’ hold.

“Hawke-“

“What are you two doing!?” She couldn’t help sounding hysterical now that the creature was gone. Her heart pounded and she tried her best not to cry because this was too much, too weird, even for her and how could they be so calm when some unknown entity comes in and tells them to give up things and exchanged blood and..and…

Anders held her tightly as Fenris moved closer and touched her cheek with a gauntleted hand. “Would you not sacrifice everything to save one of us?” Her lips trembled and she looked up at Fenris with watery eyes. His heart clenched, because he’d never envisioned this, and a quick glance to Anders’ troubled eyes told him the same. This was not pretty or filled with love, this wasn’t to consummate marriage or a soul deep bond of affection.

It was magic, dark and dangerous, given to them by something Fenris would have named Fen’Harel. He had dared not utter or think the name in the creature’s presence, some superstitions ingrained even into his mind. A trickster god, a creature reviled by the elves, the creature that had helped to doom Fenris’ people. But there was the trick of it, the god had been willing to help and the prices to be paid were odd but painful.

“Yes.” She finally whispered, almost like admitting defeat. Hawke didn’t cry, which only made this marginally better. Still with a second glance to Anders, he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers. She stiffened, but didn’t pull back and he kept his lips pressed to hers. He didn’t press closer, only let his lips slide softly slide against hers coaxing her fear away. This was not ideal, they weren’t alone, and he would have to share… but he would not let her be afraid.

Fenris pulled away, a soft breath escaping from him. “You are beautiful.” He whispered to her, and he felt some pride at seeing her pale cheeks flush. He peppered kisses across her face, gentle as he had never been before with a lover. He wanted to be rougher, to mark, to claim, and this thing in his blood howled at him to do so. He restrained himself because he had to, because he cared for her and she deserved gentleness.

He felt her jump, startled, as Anders leaned forward and pressed kisses to the side of her face. Anders might be his mage as well but it didn’t mean that Fenris naturally wanted to share her. Fenris doubted that Anders wanted it this way as well. Still he acquiesced, because they had to do this together. They had to share their lives and power with her. It was a ritual.

Anders glanced at Fenris, asking with his eyes before he gently turned Hawke around in his arms and kissed her. He was nervous, like this was the first time he’d done this sort of thing. Which actually was true, because he’d never slept with anyone in the Deep Roads. He could admit to himself that his nervousness stemmed from his affection for her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but it was reality, and it was dark but they would bring her some happiness in this. He would give her pleasure.

He held her close to him, his hands glowing faintly with magic as he let a spell wash over them, cleaning their bodies of the remnants of their previous fight. He coaxed her lips open, slowly, gently as he slid his tongue into her mouth. Dreams and reality mixed together as he kissed her, exploring her mouth and tasting her like she was the sweetest delicacy he could have ever encountered. He could faintly hear the clanking sounds of armor being dropped to the ground, but his focus was centered on her. On Hawke.

When he pulled back from her lips she looked dazed, lips faintly swollen and faint blush to her cheeks. The fear had retreated and he kissed her forehead lovingly, tenderly, because he needed to shower her in affection and care because this situation was unfair to her, to them, and they had to make it better.

Anders gently pushed her into Fenris’ arms, watching for a moment as the tevinter elf kissed her again. The kiss was harder this time, he could tell. Fenris held her tightly, the upper parts of his armor already discarded, leaving him only in a black tunic and pants. At least Fenris loved her, Anders thought to himself as he stripped off his coat and boots. He heard her gasp into Fenris’ mouth while the elf growled, hands grasping her hips possessively.

“Hawke…” Fenris whispered and she bit her bottom lip at the tone of his voice. She’d never…no one had ever sounded like that when speaking to her. Her pulse pounded and it was easier to relax a little, because they seemed to want this, want her, despite the situation. Still it was…

“No.” She whispered out, and his snarl was almost feral and his grip painful on her hips. A little bit of fear threaded through her. “No, I mean not _no_.” She stated quickly, feeling him relax a little. She took in a deep breath of air, and was happy to find she wasn’t breathing in just Deep Roads, but Fenris and the scent of his sweat, sword polish, and leather that never seemed to fade away. “I just…use my name.” She added quietly, wrapping her arms around him because he was the one in front of her and within her reach. “Call me Moirae.”

He kissed her again, the gentleness leaving him for a moment, because Moirae supposed she overwhelmed him with her request. She didn’t know, she hadn’t…even though he nipped her lips and tongue and crushed her to him, devouring her, owning her…she wasn’t afraid. Somehow now that it was settled and that they weren’t turning back from this, she wasn’t afraid only nervous because she didn’t know what to do. So she clung to him like he was the only thing going to keep her afloat in the storm and surrendered to him.

When he pulled back Moirae mewled, panting and almost trying to lean in to kiss him again. She was pulled back by another set of hands, pressed flush against Anders as he turned her head and kissed her. His was gentler, but just as relentless. She reached back with one arm to try and hold him, because he was close again now and she could touch him. He smiled against her lips, nibbling delicately on her bottom lip before pulling back.

“Moirae.” Fenris growled into her neck and her heart thudded erratically in her chest. He nipped at the delicate skin right behind her ear as he slowly began to undo the buttons on her jacket. “This outfit drives me mad. I’m so used to seeing more skin, the creamy curves of your cleavage, your pale neck, strips of skin on your thighs between your boots and your skirt. This deprives me, torments me, taunts me with the promises of skin below the clothes, skin I’ve glimpsed.” As he undid the belts and buckles, sliding the jacket off he hissed out a curse as he tossed the offending article to the side.

“Nothing? You wear nothing save a breast band underneath that?” His growled made her shiver as he leaned forward, kissing and nipping the skin covering her clavicle. “You tease.”

“I didn’t mean-“ Her protesting apology was cut off but another set of hands, Anders’ hands, settling on her waist caressing her skin.

“He’s right.” Anders whispered in her ear as his hands trailed over her stomach. Fenris moved to her shoulders, kissing them while he held her upper arms. “You’re a minx and a tease. Do you remember the morning I came early to go shopping? You answered your door in that chemise, all creamy and beautiful with that ribbon that made me want to unwrap you. I wanted to take you then and there, and you knew it jailbait.” The teasing endearment as he nipped her ear, made her feel naughty and pretty. His words warmed her, both of their words did, and she didn’t fight them like she knew she should.

Fenris reached around and unclasped her breast band, taking it away. He stilled when he saw her breasts, perfect and pale with rosy nipples that had stiffened due to the chill. Reverently he cupped them in his hands, feeling their weight and their softness. Her soft little gasp and the flush of her cheeks made him growl. Bending his head he started to place kisses on her skin and her breathing picked up as he gently squeezed her breasts, enjoying the contrast between her delicate skin and his sword calloused hands.

He kissed his way down, moving one hand as he pressed a kiss to her nipple. She shivered and he smiled, taking it into his mouth and suckling. Her surprised gasp had Anders chuckling, his hands wandering lower, teasingly dipping into her pants before skirting out again.

“You’re lovely, sweetheart.” Anders murmured, feeling magic beginning to rise from them all. He wanted to distract her from that, to keep her focused on feelings and sensations. The way she trembled slightly when Fenris bites her nipple, laving his tongue across the sensitive flesh to make it feel better, then going back to suckling made his blood heat pleasantly. The way she gasped and writhed, and he can tell she wasn’t sure what to do with one man let alone two. Knowing that this is likely her first time left a bitter taste in his mouth that he washed away with a kiss to her lips. He drank in her muffled sounds, and cautiously reached out, touching Fenris to gain his attention.

A warning growl answered him, telling him that he’s gotten Fenris’ attention. Anders ground himself against Moirae’s ass, distracting her as he peered over her shoulder and down at Fenris. Anders wasn’t about to start wondering how he had gotten so good at communicating with Fenris without using words, and as they stared at each other Fenris growled again, in irritation and acceptance.

“What-“

“We’re going to strip you.” Anders spoke into her ear, gently. “Then Fenris is going to-”

“Taste you.” Fenris supplied with a wicked smirk that had her flushing from her waist up. He straightened, cupping her cheek and feeling the power flowing from him into her. He frowned slightly when he noticed that he had smeared blood on her, his hand still bleeding. Fen’Harel’s words echoing in his mind. They had not shared blood yet. Still there was no need to startle her now, not when she was looking at him with such an expression of open wonder and need that to his knowledge he’d never had given to him.

“We’re going to put you on Anders’ lap.” He began, watching her expression as he started to undo her pants. “You’re going to spread your pretty legs for me while he holds you.” Fenris knelt, working on her boots, taking them off and tossing them to the side. “Then I’m going to touch you, spread you open for my enjoyment while I kneel between your legs and take you with my tongue.” He slid off her pants, and Anders moved them a step back, gently helping to guide Moirae into a sitting position, bracing her against his chest.

Moirae didn’t know how to articulate with the exact words to elegantly express how much she wanted Fenris to do that. How she _really_ wanted Fenris to do that. So she spread her legs for him and tried not to close her legs when he chuckled. “Beautiful.” He whispered as he leaned up to lick her cheek, then moved down to her chest again. He was…oh he was cleaning her with his tongue. That really shouldn’t be arousing, but the way he looked up at her through his lashes, eyes dark and possessive had her trying not to squirm.

“Fenris?” She hated how breathy and light her voice sounded, but it got his attention and he smirked at her. She liked it when he smirked, or smiled, and his trademark broody expression melted away into what she felt like was the closest to the Fenris he had been before he lost his memories. “Before…don’t we..?” She trailed off cursing herself that for all her witty catchphrases, for all her linguistic mastery, she was tripping over words and stuttering like a prepubescent fool encountering her first crush.

“Yes.” He growled and he understood, thank the Maker. He glanced to the side, reaching for her pants and finding her trusty knife. “Anders.” He said and the older mage held out his hand, letting Fenris cut his palm open. Moirae watched and Fenris gently took her hand, glancing at her apologetically before cutting her hand. Fenris placed his palm against her wound for a handful of heartbeats, and she felt something shift inside her, reaching out towards him, and as it started to take hold he let go, letting Anders repeat the process. She hadn’t been aware until that very moment how she had felt like she was going to float away, that it had been nothing but chance that had kept her there. Chance or the trickster god’s magic. Still she felt something, and unsure what it was she looked at Fenris, then back at Anders as both men seemed to tense.

Then it passed and heat curled in her belly as Fenris smirked at her again. He slowly took his tunic off, feeling attractive as her gaze flickered over his bare chest, tracing the lines of muscles and lyrium with undisguised want. He had never thought his tattoos as attractive until right now, wondering what it would feel like to have her lips and tongue trace them. Anders did not sit idle as Fenris and Moirae looked at each other, his hands gentle as they moved up to start touching her breasts.

Magic moved and wove them together as Fenris knelt down, surprised as the cool rush of healing magic that healed his cut that came from Anders. The elf hadn’t thought to ask, hadn’t thought too deeply on the magical status of his impromptu bed partners. He knew they were mages, but to have magic used to easily and quickly even while in this state.

Fenris shook it off and moved closer. He could smell her now, that sweet feminine musk that all women had when aroused but still it was uniquely hers. His fingers came up and touched her slit, feeling the warm wetness with a rush of pleasure and relief. She was enjoying this, and that mattered to him almost as much as saving her life. Bringing his fingers back, he made eye contact with her, letting her see her slick on his fingers before licking them clean. He almost wanted to laugh at her shocked expression, and wondered how she could be so innocent in the ways of the flesh with her beauty and Isabela’s friendship.

 _She’s an apostate_

The voice of his usually absent conscience reminded him. She was little better than he, a slave on the run. What time would she have had for love affairs? How could she have trusted anyone to be this close to her? She might know in her mind what sex was like, but truly confronted with it she had no grasp on the situation. Like Anders had tried to convey earlier, and Fenris had to grudgingly concede that his other mage had a point. She would need the more experienced lover for the first time, but she would come for him before then. He would be her first foray into the world of pleasure.

He parted her feminine lips now, still conscious of the time restraint put on them. If he had the time he would taste every inch of her, he would make her putty in his hands and full of wanton desire for him. Gentleness was not his nature, but he’d reign in his harder, darker, needs for her this time. This though, would give him pleasure just as much as it would give her. He leaned forward and licked, delighting in her startled noise and the jump that had him grateful Anders was there to steady her, to ground her while he got to touch a place he was certain no one had ever touched before.

Moirae’s breath hitched and her hands flailed for a moment, unsure what to do or who to touch. She’d never thought, never hoped…Void take it, she thought she was going to die a virgin surrounded by students and cats. That was an unsexy thought but she had to think them because she was going to die, her heart was going to explode or she was going to asphyxiate, or something because Maker nothing should feel this good. Not even touching herself had been this good.

“Hold onto Fenris, sweetheart.” Anders’ voice gave her an instruction that she nearly jumped to obey. She’d always avoided touching Fenris before, never knowing how his lyrium would react to her magic, never knowing the collar kept him from feeling it. Her hands trembled slightly as she threaded her fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft, how silken it felt. He growled again, pleased, she could tell he was happy she was touching him as he pressed his face closer to her and started to do…oh she wasn’t sure what he was doing with his tongue but it felt marvelous.

“Nnn ah!” Maker save her she couldn’t make a word if she tried. It didn’t seem to annoy or fluster either man, Anders pinching and rolling her nipples as he sucked on her pulse point while Fenris tried to pull her hips closer to him. He slid his tongue into her, fucking her with it for a moment before moving up to suck on her clit, two fingers pushing inside her to start stretching her.

“Fenris, Fenris please!” She could make words, simple words, the only real words in her vocabulary right now. She was asking, begging for him to complete her. The knowledge he had power over her spurred him on, scissoring his fingers for a moment then adding a third one. She hoped she wasn’t hurting him, she knew she was tugging on his hair, but he didn’t make a sound of pain or displeasure.

Then she was falling and floating and power and pleasure rushed through her. The world was white, then dark, and she thought she had surely been killed but then she realized she was breathing and her body twitching as Fenris didn’t move away, milking her orgasm. She tugged insistently him up gently by his hair and he complied, smirking with satisfaction as he leaned forward and kissed her. She could taste herself on his mouth, and it was odd and not entirely unpleasant and he seemed to be turned on when she moved back just a little to clean his mouth with her tongue.

Anders was laughing behind her as she felt an icy breath of magic come from him. “We’re going to have to work on that, jailbait.” He whispered amused in her ear as Fenris looked to the side and smirked.

“What?” Her voice was breathy and confused and she felt more than mildly happy. She was content and perhaps they could cuddle for a moment or two before they had their wicked way with her again.

“It seems you lost control.” Fenris sounded smug as he pulled her from Anders’ arms, pressing their bodies flush together. “And set a corner of the blanket on fire.”

The sound she made was filled with horror and embarrassment and she tried to jerk away from Fenris. He held her tighter, she had to marvel that for such a lithe man he was practically indomitable steel when he wanted to be, and his skin was velvety soft. Still marveling at having so much Fenris to touch was not negating her panicked embarrassment. She hated the pitiful noise she made, but she quieted when Fenris nipped her neck.

“It happens to all of us, sweetheart.” Anders said soothingly as he kissed her shoulder. “Part of why we’re encouraged to be promiscuous in the Tower, the more encounters we have the more we get used to not having awkward moments telling a Templar or Senior Enchanter exactly why the curtains were burnt to cinders in your bedroom, let alone accidentally setting your partner on fire.” Moirae felt some of her embarrassment ease and a giggle burst out at imagining Anders accidentally setting anyone on fire during sex.

She could hear him moving away, and the loss of his body heat at her back made her press closer to Fenris. It was only a moment before Anders was back, taking her from Fenris and pulling her down onto the bedroll. Moirae looked up and her breath caught in her throat.

Anders was naked.

Anders was _naked_.

He was different from Fenris. Anders was tall and almost gangly when clothed. When unclothed he was…breathtaking. He was muscled but not overly so, a man who stayed in shape, who worked hard, but didn’t wield a giant sword. He had hair, unlike Fenris, on his chest dark blond with a smattering of grey that trailed down his stomach and thinned before growing thick again at the base of his crotch. Following that trail of hair had her staring at his cock. Maker he was big, and hard, it was flushed a dark red with a bead of liquid collecting at the tip. He let her stare, he watched her expression as she took him in. She saw his scars, like he had seen hers, and instead of being disgusted or ignoring them, they just became another feature to love.

“Can I…?” She flushed, glancing at Fenris for a moment, before looking at Anders again. “Can I..” She started again, wishing that for all her courage she could muster up something right now. “Can I touch your…?” For all the times she had sworn, cursed, made innuendos, and even spouted off dirty stories with Isabela she couldn’t say the word _cock_ to save her life. Prick, penis, dick, rod, pole, dong, joystick, knob, none of the words would make themselves known. But he smiled at her and she moved on the bedroll, kneeling now.

“Of course sweetheart, but not for too long and…” He moved forward, bending just a little as he pulled the pins keeping her hair in place. He made a noise in the back of his throat, masculine and pleased as he ran his fingers through her hair. “There, perfect.”

She reached out, looking at him, then Fenris, then back to him before taking a steadying breath. Her fingers ghosted over his thighs, then upwards, and finally touching his cock. He sucked in a breath as she ran her fingers across his length. The skin felt…nice there, she mused as she let her fingers wander, touching his balls with undisguised fascination. She moved closer, and before she could think too hard or wonder if he’d really want her to, she ducked her head, opened her mouth and licked his tip. His sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know.

Grasping his base firmly, she felt her cheeks flush as she licked his tip again. His precome tasted interesting, it was the only word she could think to describe it as she licked at his tip again hoping to get more. She wanted to get an accurate description of it…for science.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasles!”

His breathless curse had her smiling as she slipped the tip into her mouth and suckled. His body was taut, as if he was holding himself back, and as she slowly moved her head down, wondering if this would feel nice for him, he gripped her hair and pulled her back.

“No.” Anders said breathlessly, his voice tight and husky. “No, Maker I’ve wanted your mouth like this but no, we don’t have _time_ sweetheart. If, later, you want to try again then you can have me all you want.” Moirae tried not to feel disappointed, but he was kneeling on the ground now, pushing her back down and spreading her legs. His fingers found her cunt and they slid into her, tingling with magic that had her shuddering and spreading her legs wider. “That’s a good girl, jailbait.” His nickname for her made her reach up and touch him, her hands going to his hair and untying it.

He stretched her, pressing soft kisses to her face. She was calmer now, so much calmer than she had been at the start where Anders had been so afraid they were going to have to literally force her. She was open and needy and ready for him. There was only a single glance he gave to Fenris, to make _sure_ that this didn’t blow up in his face and he’d end up being decapitated or worse.

There was a surprising amount of lust, of acceptance, that Anders was going to be first. If it had to be someone, anyone, he would begrudgingly admit that his other mage was a good choice. Anders had willpower, he could be gentle and not be afraid of losing control with her, with hurting her. Anders was handsome enough, the mage didn’t disgust him, and if this situation wasn’t so…bizarre so odd then maybe he would feel jealousy at knowing Anders would be the first man inside her.

Fenris knew that he would be remembered forever in her mind, because Anders might be the first man to be inside her Fenris was the first man to make her come.

Anders rubbed his cock against her entrance, slow and gentle, getting her used to the idea of him there. She didn’t startle, nor did she try to close her legs, her eyes only looked into his open and accepting and _wanting_. Maker, even Justice wanted this, wanted her and the spirit was even better than simply relying on willpower alone to not just _take_.

He moved, pushing in and she was perfect, warm and wet and so Maker blessedly tight that he felt like he was going to die. Then her arms were around his neck, reaching up and holding him, pressing their bodies together while he pressed into her. He stopped when he reached her barrier, panting and hands clutching at her. She lifted her hips slightly, asking, wanting, and Anders was only a man as he pulled back just a little and snapped his hips forward.

It hurt, only a little, a surprising sharp pain that made her gasp but his hands sparked with magic and she forgot about it because she was feeling _him_ inside her, and Holy Maker it felt good. Then she felt hands on her, and she gasped as they skirted down her body to between her legs rubbing her clit. “Oh… _oh_.” Came her articulate reply to those clever sword calloused fingers as Anders started to move.

“Erschaffer.” He breathed out, his voice hoarse and husky with a tinge of _Justice_ at the edge. He wasn’t sure if he was glowing or not, he felt things, felt power and magic, pulling him closer, tying him to her in a way that was oddly familiar. “So schoen…mein…Horst du das? Kaetzchen? Du bist mein.” He didn’t care if he sounded ridiculous, he didn’t care that he had reverted back to Anderfellian. It sounded right and she moaned and arched against him, enjoying his words almost as much as she was enjoying his cock and Fenris’ fingers.

“Ja, ich verstehe _Anders_.” Her breathless words, choppy with horrible pronunciation had him groaning. Maker he’d never, not since Karl, had anyone understood his lapses into Anderfellian which usually only embarrassingly happened mid coitus. Then she’s here, under him, arching into him and pressing against him, unabashedly enjoying the feel of him in her, on her. “Aber ich habe auch an… Fenris gehoeren.”

“Ich weiss das, Kaetzchen.” He bit her ear, and she wondered what sick part of her mind allowed her to make mildly coherent sentences in Anderfellian while being fucked by Anders. Her life was bizarre and odd, and Fenris had better not hope for something like a repeat because she could only verbally swear in Arcanum. Swear like a bloody sailor, repeating words he’d said in the heat of battle or muttered under his breath when he thought she couldn’t hear.

Anders kept moving in her, his pace steady and firm, and it was so so good but she wanted more. She wanted to unravel his marvelous will and have him let loose, to have him simply take because he’d been giving her far far too much. Moirae nipped and bit at his throat, one hand tangled in his hair while the other scratched down his back, because it felt right to do that. He groaned, his hips bucking for a moment, out of his rhythm and she felt a small sense of feminine power at even denting Anders’ resolve.

“ _Anders_ ” The way she said his name, made his blood heat to an almost intolerable level. “Kann…ich..bitte… _please_.” Maybe later she’d be able to really ask, speak to him in a voice that he’d kill another man for hearing because it would only make itself known in the bedroom. Anders would teach her the fine art of dirty talk, one day, a day that wasn’t right now because hearing her practically inarticulate trying to grasp at the best way to get him to do what she wanted was fine, perfectly acceptable. It was in fact incredibly arousing to feel like he’d fucked the words right out of her, that thoughts were gone and all that was left was him and her need for him.

“Ja, ja.” He breathed out and shifted his thrusts, harder, faster and she made a delicious noise, part moan, part whine, something that told him that he was doing exactly what she wanted. It didn’t last long enough, not for either of them, because Anders reached out with his magic like he had never done before. Like the way mages weren’t ever supposed to with another person unless they _loved_ them, like the way Heretic had washed him with her magic before she had just simply disappeared, and it sparked something between them that had even Justice writhing in ecstasy and the world was filled with white blue light and mind numbing pleasure.

When it was over, when the light had dimmed and he had come back into his head he felt worn out and sated. He prided himself on his stamina, a mage and a warden he could, and had gone all night and into the next day, but this had him sapped of everything. It must be the ritual or the magic, or both. He pressed a sloppy open mouth kiss to her lips, drinking in and muffling her moan when he pulled out. She answered his kiss, and for a moment they lay entwined, Fenris having removed his hand at a point Anders couldn’t remember but was thankful it had happened.

He pulled away, panting and…happy. When they got out of here, when they were out of the blight infested tunnel and back into civilization he was going to have to pursue this. He didn’t care how, he hoped that it would be because she loved him in return, but would settle for less than that so long as he had her.

She looked like a happy pile of freshly fucked woman. One of the best kind of piles that didn’t involve kittens or dead templars. She also looked like a sleepy pile of freshly fucked woman.

“Can you…rejuvenate her?” Fenris’ request almost startled him out of his skin. The elf was watching her with sheer unadulterated want in his eyes, well more like his cock was Fenris was gazing at her with need and something Anders would call love. Moirae blinked up at him, her pleasured dazed mind happily somewhere not in their current predicament. Anders wanted to be a bastard, tell Fenris he had to get her up and going the old fashioned way…but…

Moirae went from being happily sated and close to just curling up and sleeping to jolting awake with a gasp. Anders was next to her, smirking like an insufferable bastard as his hand stroked her stomach. “Fenris.” His voice was smug and at his reminder of Fenris she looked over at the elf.

Oh…

 _Oh_

Fenris was naked now, all olive colored skin and lyrium lines. She had always suspected they covered his entire body, but now she had proof, glorious proof that they did. Fenris was different than Anders, his muscles harder, more defined, but still not bulky. Below his eyebrows there was nothing, no hair, just gloriously tanned skin waiting to be touched.

“Fenris, may I?” She held her hand up and he watched her, nodding when he grasped what she wanted to do. Rolling away from Anders, she moved towards Fenris. She hesitated, only for a moment, because touching Fenris had always been taboo, as Heretic, as Lady Hawke. But she wasn’t either of those now, she was simply Moirae and he knew enough to know she was a mage, he’d been between her legs for Maker’s sake and touching him right now was allowed.

She started first by touching his shoulders, shivering herself when her fingers touched the lyrium markings, on his skin, in his skin. It was just novel, touching him, feeling that warm velvet skin under her questing fingertips, feeling the difference in texture when she encountered a lyrium marking. Glancing at him in askance, she leaned forward slowly, lips brushing the skin of his neck, finding a marking she let her tongue dart out. She had always _wondered_ what it would be like.

It was elemental, wonderful, like she had just touched and tasted pure magic and the taste had something in her responding. His snarl drowned out her sudden squeak, and before she could move back, she found herself pinned underneath him as he held her hands to the bedroll. She held her breath, staring up at him for a moment before unconsciously tilting her head back and showing her throat to him. His breath was harsh and his body tense.

“Fenris?” Anders voice filtered into Fenris’ brain, and while he wouldn’t say the other mage was calming it brought him back into the moment.

“I felt _her_.” Fenris began, not releasing his grip on her wrists, not moving from the position he held her in. She was beautiful and bare, spread out for him and submitting. There was no way save for an entire army of Darkspawn bursting into the room that he was going to give up this position. “It was…” It hadn’t been anger that had made him move, or fear, or instinctual sense of self preservation. No, that one brief touch, her tongue on his neck had made his marks _sing_ a song powerful and seductive that had nearly overwhelmed his senses. “Her magic reacts pleasantly to the markings….that is an understatement.” He supplied as he looked down at her, body humming with desire for her. “They resonate with her, and her magic…”

“Is influenced by her emotions so her desire for you was physical and omnipresent for a moment?” Anders supplied, interest in his voice, a scholarly curiosity and knowledge supporting his hypothesis. He was Circle trained, afterall, and it wasn’t as if he could forget everything he’d ever learned even when tired and pleasantly fucked.

“…I suppose.” Fenris reluctantly answered, confused by his own body’s reaction. He had stopped her, why? Especially because it had felt so _good_.

“Then Moirae, be careful with your magic and Fenris. You might overwhelm him if you try to share again.” It was odd as Anders thought on it, but she hadn’t shared her magic with him. He had certainly opened himself up to her, had caused their climaxes actually, but she hadn’t let hers go. It was…disappointing? Hurtful? She was an apostate so perhaps she didn’t know what it meant? Her father was a mage though and had clearly trained her…but what if he hadn’t felt comfortable sharing such knowledge with a little girl? He didn’t even known when Malcolm had died.

He didn’t know a lot about her, but he’d been willing to sacrifice everything he had to save her.

Fenris kissed her again, and Maker she shouldn’t be turned on or let alone ready for a third round but she was. He didn’t even need to encourage her to spread her legs, she had opened them without hesitation. There was no preamble, no gentle teasing or the permission of some more petting. He slid into her and moaned into her mouth as she tried to inhale, unable to move her arms to try and hold him, to try and steady herself against him.

It was arousing, exciting, to be held down and taken. She’d never thought of it before, or never thought it would actually be done. The drug of her own submission, her own acceptance that Fenris was in charge, was sweet and intoxicating. He pulled back from the kiss, watching her, watching as she moved with him, not even trying to escape. That was good, better than good, it was the best feeling in the world that she trusted him. That she was accepting him like this, that she was giving him power because she trusted him.

He would not break that trust.

Her legs came up, hooking around his waist, pulling him closer into that warm wet heat of her sex. It didn’t matter Anders had been there before, it didn’t matter that this was a dark ritual where he felt magic weaving in and out of him, felt it in the air, felt it in his blood burning so hot that it was nearly painful, it didn’t matter that he was craving the sweet siren song of her magic, because he had everything he had ever _truly_ wanted right now in this moment. He had the woman he loved in his arms, pressed against him, needing him and he was still a free man. There were no shackles on him, no Danarius, nothing except them.

“Moirae.” His voice was huskier than it normally was, the growling tone had her clenching around him and gasping for breath. He had only said her name, but Maker save her his voice was pure sex. “Moirae do you want to come?” She shuddered and held back a whine, bucking her hips up into his hard demanding rhythm. She nodded then figured out that that was likely not the correct way to answer him.

“Y-yes.” She breathed out gasping and panting, twisting in his embrace not because she wanted out but because she had to _move_. Moirae felt his grin, heard and felt his pleased growl that made his chest vibrate, and an extra snap of his hips.

“Good.” It was like a growl and a purr all at once and she wondered if she could come just by listening to him talk. “Now ask Anders to touch you.” The other man had let him help before, so why not return the favor? They had all been touching, been helping since the decree had first come down upon them. If it had been anyone else, any other time, place, or circumstances the mage would be mutilated and dead long before this had started to happen. Her sudden gasp, her sex tightening around him again told Fenris he had made the right call.

“Anders?” Her voice was breathy and full of need, and they all knew how hard it was for her to think right now let along talk. But Fenris was asking her, telling her, to do this and Maker it turned her on. She might utterly horribly fail at this, she wasn’t perfect by any means, she knew she wasn’t but Maker they made her feel sexy. “Anders…can..oh!” Her brain stuttered as Fenris thrust in all the way and ground himself into her, and she almost forgot entirely what she was supposed to be doing.

“Can..may..I? …Can you _please_ …unf…touch me?” Anders had to give her credit for getting an entire fairly coherent sentence out. He smirked though and if it had been another time, in another place, he would have teased her until she had told him where she had wanted him to touch. There was still something arousing about having an articulate woman brought down to this level, and life was already unfair enough as it was.

“Of course, _Kaetzchen_.” He pressed up against her side, hand moving down to where he knew she wanted him to touch. He almost wanted to open up again, to share his magic with her, but Fenris was in her and it would be…awkward, rude, or something to share an intimacy like that while Fenris fucked her. He had another idea.

Fenris could feel Anders hand between his and Moirae’s bodies, could feel his other mage’s fingers brushing accidentally against his skin. He felt a spark, magic, and it ran through him like a bolt of pure pleasure, different than the incident before. He Moirae cry out brokenly, back arching as she strained against his hands, clamping down around him and he wasn’t far behind her as another sizzle of pleasure arced through him. The world went blue white, from his markings, from his mind becoming overloaded; he wasn’t sure which it was as he fell off the edge of a too bright world into a blank.

He came to with arms wrapped around him and gentle, but shaking fingers running through his hair. His head was pillowed on Moirae’s breasts and her breath was still uneven. Fenris almost wanted to keep pretending to be unconscious.

“What happened?”

“We passed out.” Anders answered. “It must have been the ritual, and she’s fine, she’s whole again. Justice wanted me to tell you.” Moirae’s fingers trailed over his ear, following the line until the tip, and it took Fenris much of his tattered willpower not to purr and snuggle down closer into her.

“We should…get dressed?” Her voice was reluctant, shy, and Fenris almost told her no. But, their companions might soon be upon them, and Fenris was not eager to try and explain anything to Carver whilst naked and swordless.

“Yes.” He lifted his head up, and before she could move away or tell him ‘no’ he kissed her. She made a noise, and he couldn’t tell what it was for, but she relaxed into the kiss after a handful of heart beats. He drew away, caressed her hip, and got up. When he moved Anders gave her no time to get away either, sweeping in and placing his own kiss to her lips.

They pulled apart and dressed, Anders using the last of his mana to clean up the evidence of their activities.

“Moirae!” It wasn’t a second too soon, when she placed the final pin in her hair, that Carver burst into the room, hand gripping his sword as he looked around wildly for a threat. Finding none, and his sister standing, he ran across the room dropping his sword and gripping her in a crushing embrace. He didn’t cry, but he relaxed when she wrapped her arms around him.

“Maker, we were here and then we were gone, and you were dying. If you had what would I tell Mother? What would I tell myself? That I threw you at a dragon and you did something and they were dead and by the way so were you? Don’t do that again, not again, I can’t lose another sister.”

“Well ya know what they say kiddo, lose one sibling it’s a tragedy but lose two siblings and that’s carelessness.”

“Nobody asked your opinion dwarf.” Carver grit out as he held her closer, trying to be manly in his concern and obvious relief at finding Moirae whole. She had been turning gray when he had been banished by the creature, and now she looked as if nothing had happened except…

He sniffed her hair, then snarled.

Pushing her away and going for his sword, fury mindless and instinctual blanketed his mind in red. She smelled like sex. He didn’t particularly care which one did it, they were both responsible since they were both here, they were both going to die for touching his sister.

“Carver! Carver, no!” Her hands were on him, tugging him away from his quarry in a futile gesture of protection. He simply pulled her along with him as he marched over to where the elf and the apostate were looking frantically around for something to defend themselves, weapons behind Carver.

“Carver they saved my life, it wasn’t rape!” The blood rage dimmed just a little, only a little as he stopped his quest for their hearts on a silver platter and settled on listening to his sister. “It was a ritual, magic, like…like that one book Father told us not to read but we read anyway with Morrigan’s help! It was sex magic, they gave up pieces of themselves and blood, and it had to be sealed through sex. I don’t think, it usually doesn’t work, if any of the partners is unwilling.”

Carver’s chest heaved and he felt his friend guilt and impotent fury at once again not being able to _do_ anything to help his sister. He…he wasn’t sure if he could have, she was his sister, he loved her…but that might have been a line he might not have been willing to cross even for her sake. She would have died if it had been left up to him to save her, and that hurt even worse that the creature who had helped them had _known_ that.

“So it wasn’t ideal, but they were courteous and very very kind.”

“But they’ve ruined you…”

Moirae brought her hands up, cupping Carver’s face as she stared into his eyes. “Carver, in full sibling honesty, you know just as well as I do that I was never going to get married to any nobleman who solicited mother for my hand, even Sebastian if he ever decided to break his vows.” Her voice was calm, not quite soothing, but more resigned to an inevitable future than any of the Circle mages that Anders ever knew. It wounded him like a knife, she was so…so amazing and beautiful, she was working for the betterment of all mages, she was fighting for their future and she had never hoped or dared to really dream of one of her own. She had never thought that…that…he couldn’t finish his own thought.

“If I was to marry, a grand impossible if, the man would likely not be noble, not particularly care I wasn’t a virgin, because on the laundry list of undesirable traits that I have virginity is not going to be a deal breaker when I have ‘apostate’ at the top followed up by the other unmentionable circumstances, that are no less weighty or rather daunting to overcome. Carver, while not ideal circumstances, this was likely my only time to be intimate with someone else. I was blessed to have two wonderful men take care of me. What would you rather have happened, that I die or that my first time be with Isabela?”

“What about K-“

“Taken, by Des.” She cut him off before he could say the name, but his paling face and visible flinch at the mention of Desiderium reassured her that Karl was not about to be mentioned again. “Carver if I thought that they had wronged me, they would be dead. You know it, I know it, they both know it. Can we…drop the subject, please?”

“Only if you swear you sleep next to me for the rest of this excursion. I am not about to have my _sister_ ” Carver emphasized with a pointed look to both men. “Put into any more awkward positions or wake up hearing noises I can’t unheard.”

“Heh, could I watch if they do?”

“Maker’s breath dwarf, _no_! That’s my sister.” Carver exclaimed, sounding like he wish he had magic, only so he could set Oghren on fire.

Moirae fidgeted before sighing and nodding. “If it will keep the peace then I will share a bedroll with you.” Fenris and Anders looked like they were about to protest but a not so silent snarl from Carver had both looking everywhere but Moirae.

The peace was…gone, and Carver watched over his sister like a mabari guarding its pup. If Moirae wasn’t positive her compliance with his demands was what was keeping the entire excursion from falling into a bloody chaos then she would have protested. She knew they watched her, with equal parts care and longing. She…Maker, she didn’t know what to do.

It was fine, or as fine as it could be being in the Deep Roads and partaking in a ritual like that with an overprotective testosterone ridden lump of brother breathing down her neck could be. There was a lot of Darkspawn to take her frustrations out on.

“You are a curious girl, aren’t you?”

She startled at the entrance to the Primeval Thaig, seeing a familiar form materialize from the shadows. It… He regarded her now with contemplative gaze, like she was a puzzle he wasn’t sure where all the pieces went.

“You came here before?”

“Yes, I did.” She felt the others move closer to her, tense and ready to attack of the elf wolf decided to attack.

“Mmm so _you_ were the one to let it out. Why have you returned?”

“The Gray Wardens asked for my help locating this thaig, to try and see if there was anything they needed to learn here.”

“Ah yes… _Wardens_. You really do belong to me, all so tricky and full of lies, to yourself, to others. Lies are everything when fighting a war you don’t even begin to understand, especially when the truth was forgotten.” The creature had moved, in a blink of an eye, closer to them all, regarding the wardens with a keen interest. “The thing we should have guarded is gone, and the secrets left here no mortal can uncover. Yet…you did not come out completely empty handed.” His gaze went to Fenris, staring at him for a moment then to Anders. “I should let you walk back, it would be amusing to see you fight your way out…but…” He trailed off. “I am merciful, or I wish you gone from my gaze. It is always so hard to tell exactly what I want.” He waved his hand and the men, their packs, even Barkspawn was gone.

“What? Where?” She tensed, ready to unleash a spell before her magic was cut off.

“They are at the entrance, the entrance you used to get into the Roads.” He supplied succulently. “I have that power you know, and a great deal more. You know my name, despite not being one of the people.”

“…Fen’Harel?”

He clapped delightedly and smiled with too sharp teeth. Her heart pounded harder in her chest, she was afraid, respectful of its power, and wondering how she had found it. Fen’Harel hadn’t shown himself in centuries, Velanna and Merrill had told her. To have him here, with her, alone…

“Good girl. You are one of Flemeth’s, she is the only one left who remembers the forgotten things. Do you know what you are? Do you know what you will become?”

“I…no? I am a mage and a woman, trying to make Kirkwall better.”

“A good answer, wrong, but good…I like you. So to you I will give you a clue, not to your future, not to your destiny, but for something else, something as important. It is not what you want, but how you want to obtain it that is the key. Intentions are everything, methodology is secondary, and so make sure your intentions do not waver or become _corrupt_ or you will lose. Remember, and perhaps…perhaps when you hurtle into the chaos and the world trembles before you it will not be wreathed in fire and the end of all things.”

“Wha-“ She opened her mouth, trying to ask a question, any question that would, could clarify the entire load of crazy that Fen’Harel just dumped on her lap.

“Toodles!” He cut her off, and she was suddenly in a field looking bewildered and out of place next to Carver.

“I…” She started.

“We…” He started.

“Hanged Man.” They both said in unison after a pause, because some things, some situations in life the only response the only answer was alcohol.


End file.
